


The Grimoire Thief

by loafingdragon, subtleassiduities



Series: Boys will be Embarrassing [5]
Category: Black Clover - Tabata Yuki (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Action, Alcohol, Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Development, Comedy, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drugging, Embarrassment, Espionage, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Games, Illnesses, Implied Sexual Content, Injury Recovery, Kissing, Letters, Like, Love Letters, Manipulation, Mild Sexual Content, Original Antagonist, Painkillers, Poisoning, Protective Siblings, Romance, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sibling Bonding, Sort Of, Suspense, debatably, huge tone shifts throughout, just be ready for that, just prepare for whiplash, like there are at least 3 implied boners, this fic is everywhere sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loafingdragon/pseuds/loafingdragon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/subtleassiduities/pseuds/subtleassiduities
Summary: When Nebra becomes ill after receiving her grimoire, she finds comfort in an unexpected penpal. After her recovery, she tries to forget that embarrassing time of weakness. These things do not go away so easily, however, and years later, her brother's grimoire is stolen. Her only lead is a letter left behind by the thief. She must contest the thief and her own feelings to retrieve it. Her mission is further complicated when her struggles draw the attention of her crush, Fuegoleon.
Relationships: Fuegoleon Vermillion/Nebra Silva, Fuegoreon Vermillion/Nebra Silva, Nebra Silva & Noelle Silva & Nozel Silva & Solid Silva, Nebra Silva/Original Character, Nozel Silva & Fuegoleon Vermillion, Nozel Silva & Fuegoreon Vermillion
Series: Boys will be Embarrassing [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696627
Comments: 39
Kudos: 49





	1. Who We Meet When No One's There

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, the idea behind this started as a fake dating fic for Fuegoleon and Nebra, only to sort of expand into a character study on Nebra- thus the extravagant setup. The Black Clover wiki implies that she is less confident than all her siblings (at least by the Royal Knights arc, where Noelle has grown a lot,) and that much of her apparent self-confidence is feigned. I found this interesting; as far as I know, she's not getting more development any time soon, so I decided to write her some backstory myself. The original character in this is a tool for that goal. That being said, this fic is very indulgent and I had fun with it, so you know. Hopefully, others can get some good entertainment out of it.
> 
> This fic is all over the place. Prep for whiplash. Don't expect the first few chapters to be the tone the whole way through. It will eventually get lighter, and then more serious again. (Its inclusion in the Boys Will Be Embarrassing series will make sense eventually, too.)

Nebra ran her hand over the cover of her grimoire, admiring the thick binding, the silver detailing, and the deep purple color. It was the most beautiful book she had ever seen. Such an honor had belonged solely to Nozel’s grimoire days before, but now she had decided that the detailing on his silver cover was crowded, that it was too bright, that there wasn’t enough contrast. Not like _her_ beautiful new grimoire. She let out a small peep as her nose itched, and she quickly turned away from the cover so her sneeze wouldn’t mar its surface.

“I want to see!” Solid peeped, taking the brunt of her sneeze. He recovered quickly, as children were wont to do, just wiping his face and circling her again. The nine-year-old would have gotten tangled in her legs if he hadn’t already been stepped on several times before on the trip home. “Come on, let me see it!” he insisted. 

She lifted it out of his reach when he made a snatch for it. “U mad, bro?” she teased, placing her bent finger in front of her smile to aim a smirk down at him.

Solid huffed indignantly and grabbed onto her skirt. He yanked it vindictively out of Noelle’s grip. 

Noelle dropped it and scampered to put Nebra between herself and Solid. Their baby sister had been trailing after them like a little duckling, clinging to Nebra’s skirt to avoid getting left behind. There were lots of people around walking back from the grimoire ceremony, but it wasn’t like she could get lost. They were royalty! The crowd parted for them without question. Noelle had no business clinging. 

But Nebra was in too good a mood to pay her or Solid any mind. Her gaze flicked up to Nozel’s back. His shoulders were back, relaxed. She decided that he looked bigger than usual, maybe puffed with pride. The white fur of his Silver Eagles uniform seemed to pick up in the light breeze. “Nozel,” she chirped. She added more cheekily, feeling a sort of giddy that made her think that being childish was appropriate, “Big brother.”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder.

She grinned at him and held up her grimoire. He had already seen it. Nebra had practically shoved it in all of her siblings’ faces. “You know I am a full-fledged mage, now…”

Nozel rolled his eyes and turned to look ahead again. “You will need to show that you can use your grimoire properly before you can become a member of the Silver Eagles. When you design a new spell, I will speak with the captain about your joining.”

“Of course,” she said, shifting the book into one arm and lifting her chin haughtily. She could hear the smile in his voice, as much as he tried to hide it. He had to keep up his stern persona in uniform, especially since he was in line to become vice-captain, but Nebra could strut for both of them. Her little siblings were accessories, and her grimoire a statement piece.

Nebra coughed and sniffled over dinner, and she was exhausted by the end of the day. Nozel made some comments about the filthy commoners at the Grimoire Acceptance Ceremony, and Solid complained about being sneezed on, but all it amounted to was Nebra going to bed disappointingly early.

At least, that was what she thought until she was awoken by a tremor. Nebra gasped, thinking for a moment that the building had shaken. But it was only her. She felt cold, despite her comforter heavy on top of her. Her grimoire was on top of that, laying open over her chest. She didn’t remember falling asleep, only staying up looking through it. Now it was a weight on her, crushingly heavy. She struggled to catch her breath and untangle her freezing arms from her comforter. She was still shivering, her throat felt dry, and her vision was hazy with sleep. The situation was completely untenable. It was a stress dream. Sleep paralysis. And she couldn’t wake up.

Nebra yelled once. It was all she could manage. The sound was strangled, but it was enough to get the attention of a servant in the hall. The weight of her grimoire disappeared. She panted, exhausted by her feeble struggle. More servants gathered, but their voices didn’t come together into something understandable. It was all a buzz. With the bodies in the room, it felt like she was rapidly heating up, now. From freezing to boiling, skipping any comfortable step in between. And in a horrifying trick of that fevered state, the people around her were becoming strangers. Intruders. Attackers.

And then they were gone.

She blinked up at Nozel as his hand landed on her damp forehead. His face was the only thing she could make out in a milky void. His brow was furrowed seriously.

“Where am I?” Nebra rasped. _Did I pass out?_

“You’re in bed,” he said. “Your fever broke.”

Her body ached. It felt like she was floating in a restless sea. Maybe that was why her bed felt so unfamiliar. Or maybe it was how she was drenched in sweat. Her skin didn’t feel like her own. Those alien eyes slipped shut.

“Nebra,” Nozel said firmly.

“Huh?”

“I said you must stop casting this spell,” he commanded.

She opened her eyes and found his face again. Her voice came out a plaintive squeak. “I’m not, brother.”

“Yes, you are.” He dabbed at her face with a wet cloth. “Concentrate. You have half the castle in a fog.”

Nebra whimpered and let her gaze swim over her surroundings. This didn’t _feel_ like her mist magic. It didn’t move like it. It didn’t even look like it. This fog was an impenetrable wall. It didn’t flow. It hardly moved. And it was warm. She couldn’t tell if it was her own sick or the vapor, but it smelled stale. She could feel mana- her own mana- like it was a distant thing. Nozel’s, usually so cool and bright and conspicuous, was not even detectable while he sat directly beside her. “Please believe me…”

He held up a book to her, and it took her a moment to recognize her own grimoire. It was glowing very faintly, and when he released it, it remained suspended. Opening, the pages flipped slowly, like they were sticky. They rested on a spell she didn’t recognize. She didn’t know if her mind was still too sick to read, or if it was entirely incomprehensible. Her gaze shifted to Nozel helplessly.

“Stop this,” he repeated. “It’s your spell. You know how.”

 _I don’t._ Nebra didn’t dare to speak the words aloud. “When my mana runs out-”

“It’s been days, Nebra.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending. Had she been asleep for days? Casting for days? Did a grimoire increase one’s abilities that much? She tried to focus on her mana again. It felt outside of herself, but once she found it in whatever abstract space it now apparently occupied, she found it brimming. No closer to exhaustion than when she had first received her grimoire. How could that be if she had been casting for days?

Reaching for her grimoire with trembling hands, she closed it and pulled it to her chest. “I-I need time… I still feel… Right now I…”

Nozel sighed. “I know you need to recover, but you need to address this as soon as possible. You understand.”

She nodded, and her voice came out a whimper. “I understand.”

Nozel left her alone. Nebra tried to focus on the spell in her grimoire, to make sense of what her fevered mind had done in an attempt to protect her. It was less than half a page of scrawled, overlapping, senseless words. Could it really be so hard to unravel? Her grimoire floated over her head, displaying the convolution until it blurred in her eyes. Just the act of looking was exhausting Nebra. She had not even tried to lift her head from her pillow. The cold compress on her forehead might as well have been a restraining strap. Weights pulled on her eyelids, too, but she fought them. _I have to figure this out_. Her fingers curled feebly into her comforter.

She woke to Nozel picking her grimoire off her face. Had she fallen asleep? Her face heated up in embarrassment.

“Don’t,” her brother whispered, brows pinching in concern. His hand found her forehead again.

Another face appeared; one of the royal doctors gently brushing Nozel’s hand out of the way. He pushed a thermometer between her lips. “... She’s alright. Not feverish.”

Nebra heard her brother sigh, and her mortification only amplified. Must she pile worry after worry on him?

The doctor’s grimoire opened. Lights shined in her eyes. Her ears, nose, and throat were examined. His hands held her upright. Cold tools touched her chest and back. She tried very hard to cooperate and breathe clearly. But the movement, even with strength supplemented from the doctor, was exhausting. Her heart thrummed. She panted. The doctor spoke like she wasn’t there.

“The primary infection is gone, but it’s weakened her severely.”

“She will recover,” Nozel asserted.

“Yes,” the doctor agreed. “It will take time. She needs to rest.” He placed Nebra gently down on her pillow. 

“I understand.” Her brother’s gaze landed on her. Nebra felt like she was expected to answer when he asked. “How long?”

But the doctor was the one to speak. “It’s hard to say. I will check on her once a week or as needed and monitor her progress. In this state, she’s likely to catch anything she is exposed to. That will lengthen things… No one around who doesn’t need to be. None of the little ones.”

Nozel nodded. He was still watching Nebra. She looked away as he asked, “And what about her magic?”

The doctor regarded the thick mist around him with an expression that only betrayed a professional amount of annoyance. “That will have to recover, too. Maybe some sort of artifact, or a binding spell would be prudent.”

“We’ve tried as much,” Nozel said impatiently, crossing his arms. He didn’t elaborate.

Realizing perhaps that he had overstayed his welcome, the doctor nodded. “Very well, master Silva. I will return this time in a week, or earlier if you call.” With that, he was gone, disappearing into the mist. 

Nebra tried to feel his presence in the moving water, or to even sense his mana, but the vapor was a screen between them, and once he was out of sight, he was completely gone from all her senses. She groped for Nozel, afraid he would go and leave her completely alone again. She caught his robe. It was an effort to keep her grip, even though the only force against it was the weight of her own arm.

He combed his fingers through her tangled hair. “You need to get control of this, Nebra. It is unbefitting of royalty to struggle so much. So publicly.”

Her hand fell and dangled over the edge of the bed. “I’m trying,” she croaked. The complete lack of conviction in her voice made her want to give up right there. _I’m embarrassing House Silva._

Tucking her arm back under her comforter, Nozel sighed. “I am putting you in the care of your favorite maidservant. No one else, beside myself and the doctor on occasion, will see you until this is under control.”

She couldn’t help but feel like he was punishing her. “But brother-”

“No buts. Focus on recovering and controlling this.” His fingers worked through another tangle in her hair. “I will send in your maidservant shortly.”

Nebra couldn’t find her voice to beg him to stay. His Silver Eagle robes quickly blended with the fog, and he was gone.

There was no time or place in the fog. It was everywhere she went. Her maidservant carried her through it to the bath. When they returned to her room, her bedding had been changed, and despite the fact that she had contributed very little to the task, Nebra collapsed in exhaustion. She guessed that they kept a strict schedule, but it didn’t matter. If the days had structure, any longer period of time did not. Her mind swam, puzzling and struggling continuously over the problem she had created. The doctor’s arrivals always surprised her. She couldn’t keep count of them, and she didn’t want to. Each one only impacted her shame. Nozel’s visits were even less predictable. He stopped coming to her appointments after the first few, and she felt it in her chest: a breathless, painful heartbreak that the doctor made no comment on.

Nebra tried everything she could to stop. It felt like the spell was drawing on her physical strength, keeping her weak and bedbound. She could not recover. She could not cast another spell. She could not sense through it. She could not end it. It lapped hungrily at those in sight, perhaps drawing on the mana they radiated, but it in no way depleted their stores. In all the time that passed, this was the only thing she learned about the spell, and she could not bring herself to say as much for fear that the few people she did see would stop coming. Disheartened, she decided that she would rest on her attempts. And that rest turned into weeks of sluggish inactivity, if the doctor’s visits were any indication.

At about this time, Nebra started to receive gifts of pity. Flowers, cards, toys, another blow to her ego. Her maidservant read to her, and showed her the gifts in hopes of raising her spirits. Nebra wondered if she had been receiving them this entire time, and Nozel had just then deemed her a failure enough to know how her actions had impacted everyone. 

One day, her maidservant greeted her with a quiet enthusiasm. “Lady, Nebra,” she said in a hushed tone. “I have a surprise for you.”

Nebra didn’t open her eyes. She kept her head to her pillow and nodded in acknowledgment. _Maybe it will help_ , she thought hopelessly. She heard footsteps, and she thought, less hopelessly, _Maybe this will help!_ Someone was here. Someone was visiting. Had she really not realized how lonely she was? Trying to control her breathing, she weakly pushed herself upright and peered through the mist.

Beside her maidservant, Fuegoleon Vermillion stepped into sight. Her heart pounded. He was holding flowers. He looked serious at first, but his expression softened when he saw her. “Hello, Miss Silva,” he said gently, like he expected his voice to blow her over. He held out the flowers to her. “Doing well?”

She did her best to smile, but she knew she couldn’t keep her balance sitting up and reach for the flowers at the same time. Her maidservant accepted them for her, and placed them in her lap. Nebra stroked the flowers. White heather, yellow chrysanthemums, and red asters. “Well enough.” Her voice came out raspy. She had not spoken in days, maybe weeks. Clearing her throat, she said, “You’re not supposed to be here. The last thing I need is for a Vermillion to get me sick again.”

“Then I won’t overstay my welcome. I heard that Nozel was keeping you isolated and I thought a visit might be good for morale.”

“Then he doesn’t know you’re here?” she murmured. Her throat was already sore after so little use.

“No, he doesn’t.”

Her cheeks colored. This was a _secret meeting._ A _tryst_. Some fuzzy excitement overtook her shame, but she guessed that almost anyone could have elicited such a reaction, she was so desperate for company. “I see. Why don’t you sit down?”

Her maidservant produced a chair, and Fuegoleon sat down beside her bed, distance respectful. “Your abilities make it easy to move about undetected. I should have expected they would be so powerful.”

She lifted her hand to her mouth with her finger bent so she could look down her nose at him. “You should have.”

Fuegoleon smiled politely at her. “You’ll make a fine magic knight once you recover.”

Nebra swallowed and fought to keep her performative condescension. This conversation was quickly exhausting her, and the fact that her joining the Silver Eagles had been indefinitely put off hurt like a jab in the belly. The words came out as a whimper. “... Of course.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked gently. “This reminds me of a time when you were younger, in the garden. Do you remember being caught in the rose bush?”

She looked away from him. Her blush was as much from mortification at the situation as a milder embarrassment that he would bring up such a romantic memory when they were more or less alone. “What does that have to do with it?”

“I talked you through using your magic, then,” he ventured. “Drawing in your mana. Getting it under control.”

She sank. _Oh._ “It’s not so simple, now.”

“No, I’m sure it’s not. But if there was a way I could-”

“You’re no help,” she snapped. Her chest heaved from the effort of the rebuttal. But she didn’t want him to go, so she carefully, slowly extended her hand toward him. “But you may try to guide me… I wouldn’t mind the entertainment of you floundering in my power.”

He gently took her hand. His grip felt strong, but she guessed that she was just weak. “Take a deep breath.” Fuegoleon closed his eyes and breathed in demonstratively. She watched the calm on his face and mirrored his inhale. He breathed out the words. “Draw your mana inward. Center yourself…”

Nebra wasn’t centered. She was savoring the touch of his hand. He was so warm. So strong and lively. She needed more. Maybe if she fell out of bed he would catch her. Maybe he would pick her up, and she would be enveloped in his arms. The thought was too much to bear. “I can’t,” she said aloud.

He blinked his eyes open. “No?”

“I need to be somewhere else. To clear my head. Take me to my drawing room,” she decided.

Fuegoleon glanced over to her maidservant, brow furrowed. “Do you think that will help?”

“I am not sure, lord Vermillion.” She looked to Nebra, and she must have seen the pleading, desperation in her face. “It certainly couldn’t hurt.”

Fuegoleon stood, and her servant moved the chair aside and set the flowers on her nightstand. He transferred her hand to his other hand so he could put out his arm to her and let her cling to it. He lifted her out of bed and, seeing how unsteady she was on her feet, put an arm around her back. It was a gentleman’s hold, but Nebra thrilled at his palm between her shoulders, and clung to his hand with growing infatuation. She gripped it with both hands.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

She could, with great effort, but… “No. You’ll have to carry me.”

The Vermillion sighed. He had surely realized by now that he had been tricked into being an errand boy for the testy Silva. Again, so careful and gentlemanly, he scooped Nebra up into a bridal hold. She leaned against his chest and reveled the sensation of being held by another person. Her head was spinning with glee and growing exhaustion. 

Her maidservant led him to the drawing room, and watched dutifully as he set her on the fainting couch. Her grip on his hand, while not strong, was too sure for him to politely leave, so he sat down on a stool beside the couch and continued to try to talk her through. Again, she wasn’t listening. She was holding his hand and fantasizing about being carried back to her room in his arms. 

By the time he carried her back, she was fighting to stay awake. “Let’s do this again,” she murmured, playing with his fingers and leaning her cheek against his pec. “Please.” She pressed his hands to her lips absentmindedly. “Please.”

“I think you might want to send for your siblings more often,” Fuegoleon said gently. “I don’t think being alone is good for your morale.” 

She only released his hand when he started to set her in bed, and that was to try to get her arms around his neck. “Please stay,” she insisted. “Just a little longer.” Her hands slid easily off his neck, unable to support her weight. He made sure she landed gently.

Fuego caught her hand when she tried to reach for his robes and gently patted it before setting it back on the bed. He stepped back to let her maidservant tuck her in. “I might visit again, but I think it would be best if your family spent more time with you.” When the blanket held her securely, he gave her head an encouraging pat. “Rest, now. I’m sure you’ll be feeling better, soon.”

She tried to speak up more, but sleep was dragging her down, and her throat only ached from the effort. As much as she tried to stay awake and focus on his face, her eyes sunk closed.

The next time she awoke, before dinner, Nebra felt lonelier than ever before. Her maidservant gently asked her what she would like, urged her to eat, and went to fetch her a plate. When she was gone, Nebra dragged the flowers off her nightstand and clutched them to her chest. To her surprise, something poked into her arm from among the stems- not a flower or thorn, but an envelope. She carefully plucked it off the bundle. A card? She had not noticed it before. Eager at the thought of another point of contact with her crush and the outside, she wrestled the envelope open. 

Inside was not a card. It was a letter that looked like it was written on a blank page ripped out of a book and folded in thirds. She glanced toward the door. Her maidservant wasn’t back yet. Unfolding the letter, she began to read:

_Dear, Nebra,_

_Congratulations on receiving your grimoire. I wish I could have said so sooner. It is always an event when a royal receives their grimoire, but I am sure this special day will be all the more memorable for you. Don’t take my words unkindly. I know your illness will pass. In the meantime, it has been a magnificent show of royal power. Your family would be foolish not to notice the effect it has on the kingdom’s residents. It is enrapturing. You are enrapturing. Already something to be feared, fitting for a member of the royal family. That is exactly as you should be. Your power and control will only grow from here, and so I hope this does not weigh on you. What you think of as weakness is beautiful and fearsome in the eyes of others. You should not believe the admonishments your family sends your way. They will understand eventually._

_Until then, consider me a confidante. Being alone for so long is a cruel sentence and remedy. Though I can’t visit you directly without raising questions, we can write to our hearts’ contents. I will come and pick up letters you leave me, in the first drawer of the dresser in your drawing room, and I will leave my own. Let me know if this interests you, or leave me without answer. It is all your choice. Tell me, too, if I’ve overstepped my bounds. I mean only the utmost respect. The only thing I ask is that you not embarrass me by showing this to anyone else._

_Your answer is awaited with dire anticipation,_

_~ F_

Nebra couldn’t read it all at once. She felt the warm blush flood her cheeks and her heart fluttered. Several times, she set it down and hid her face in her sleeve, like she had been attempting to say the words aloud, herself. New feelings arose in her bosom to chase away her sadness and her loneliness: warm, powerful feelings of complete faith in what she had read.

She heard the door to her room open, and scrambled to hide the letter under her pillow. In came the plate, then the maidservant who carried it. She replaced the flowers on the nightstand and set the meal in front of Nebra on a tray that rose over her lap. Nebra ate enthusiastically, if not distractedly, much to the pleasure of her maidservant, and then requested ink and stationary and to be left alone.

_Dear F,_

_I will forgive your forwardness this time only because you’re right. My isolation is most cruel. Still, it is nothing that I cannot handle. I will accept your offer to act as a confidante because someone ought to pay me the proper attention. It is out of principle, you see. Feel free to continue your praise, of course, out of the same principle. And don’t assume you are the only one who must worry about your reputation! Honestly, how short-sighted and selfish. Do not use my name. Use ‘N,’ and I will continue to offer you the same courtesy._

_Your awe at my power is expected, and it is only proper that someone praises it despite the circumstances in which it is displayed. I assure you that, healthy, I can do much more! I will show you some day soon. Until then, tell me about outside, and about the reaction of the people. No one has seen fit to tell me about the goings on outside of my confinement. Absolute fools, every one of them!_

_Do not keep me waiting long, or our deal is forfeit._

_~N_

And thus began a correspondence. F told Nebra about the impact of her condition on the kingdom. That half the castle was in a fog was no exageration; the Silva portion of the castle was completely enveloped. It poured out the windows and hung in the air, only thinned by the most turbulent of winds. Working and living in their wing of the castle had become a challenging matter. It was easy to get lost, or to walk into things. Her spell, intentional or not, was a source of awe for the nobility that could see it from their manners. They were convinced that such a massive and long-standing spell should be impossible. Some thought it a curse. Nebra quickly shut down this train of thought. It terrified her, and though F only mentioned it once, the idea of it kept her up on many scattered nights.

But for the most part, it all felt dreamy to Nebra, not nightmarish. F didn’t sound like the Fuegoleon she knew, but he was charming and flattering, and his words were easily but not damningly romantic. Nebra would never consider herself infatuated, but between letters, she had the vague fear that there would be no answer, that the relationship was an illusion, and that she would be alone again. This would all be relieved in the rush of finding another letter in her dresser drawer, and she would happily, eagerly, tell F anything he found interesting about her, her family, her abilities, the Silver Eagles, and all other manner of things.

Maybe it was because she had something to focus on other than her grimoire, or that she no longer felt so depressed as to let herself languish in bed, or the fact that frequent trips to her drawing room were building her strength, but after a few weeks, the doctor decided that she was finally improving physically. He deigned it safe for others to come around by the next visit. Of course, she wrote about this to F.

_Dear F,_

_I’m sure you know how well I have been feeling. Your encouragement, I will admit, has been some help in that. My siblings will be visiting me soon. I am sure they will be pleased about my recovery. However. I must remind you of our secret arrangement before I continue. You are my confidante, and no one else is to hear of this. I have some uncertain feelings about meeting them._

_I think that Nozel is still mad at me. You know the fog remains. That is partly your fault, too, because you distract me from working on my magic. (Of course, I would not have it any other way!) He hasn’t spoken to me in so long, I have no idea what he will say. I know you say that I am doing a service by displaying House Silva’s power, but I am starting to have my doubts. Not in you, but I don’t think he thinks the same way. I wish he was more like you._

_I don’t know what to say to him. I want to join the Silver Eagles as soon as possible. Maybe he will agree, because it will give me more excuses to use my magic around other powerful mages. What do you think? I think that sounds perfectly practical. I have always been mature and tactical. Surely, he will recognize that?_

_Tell me your opinion, and quickly._

_~ N_

_Dearest, N,_

_I am very happy to hear that you are feeling better. I knew it was well within your ability as a talented and powerful young woman. You don’t need to assure me of your maturity and tact. These qualities were always obvious about you. And don’t worry. Your feelings are safe with me, and they always will be._

_Nozel is cold. He might be mad at you, but that is a fault of his own, not yours. I can promise you that. My concern is that he will go too far and say something cruel. You can take it, I’m sure, but he still should not say something insulting to you. Just the thought of such a thing makes me burn with anger. Still, he might. Taking care of others emotionally is obviously not his strong suit. Maybe ask about the Silver Eagles in a different context before you bring up joining. There are lots of things you could talk about on that front._

_I am looking forward to seeing you join the Silver Eagles very much. Those regal robes will suit you, and I will admit I do have some selfish things to ask you. But I will hold off until you are a magic knight._

_In great Anticipation,_

_~F_

That letter got Nebra’s heart beating for an entirely different reason than her anxiety over her siblings. _What could he want from me?_ she thought, head spinning. It was a distraction so great, and she couldn’t even write back. Her stomach fluttered. When she first read the letter, she was in such a tizzy that her maidservant thought she might have caught something, but the thermometer confirmed her health, and she sheepishly explained away her excitement.

So when her siblings arrived, she was completely unprepared.

“Lady Nebra, your brothers and sister are here,” her maidservant said brightly.

The butterflies in her belly condensed into a ball of ice. Nozel’s gaze was the first to cut through the fog to where she sat at her desk in her sitting room. “Nebra. It looks like you’re feeling better.”

Nebra curled over an unwritten note. Doodles bordered the corners. She had gotten as far as ‘ _Dearest,_ ’ before giving into fantasy. “Y-yes.”

“What are you writing?” Solid asked, scurrying to her side. He tried to look over her shoulder, leaning across her shoulders affectionately.

She had missed him, but the first thing he was doing was making a nuisance of himself. She hunched further over her paper. “Nothing! I’m working on my spell!”

“Straighten your posture,” Nozel commanded. “Time away is no excuse for you to forget etiquette.” As Nebra hesitantly straightened, her older brother caught a corner of the paper that stuck out under her elbow and slipped it out of her grasp.

“Hey!” she squeaked, cheeks heating up.

He examined it with a cold stare, and his gaze flickered to his little sister’s blushing face. “Who is this for?” Beside him, Solid stood on his toes, trying to peer at the paper in front of Nozel’s face. He was unable to make it out through the fog, much to his disappointment.

She looked down at her lap, fists curled into the ruffles of her dress. “It’s no one.”

He folded the paper and tucked it into his robe. “You should be working on your spell, not writing nonsense.”

Her heart sank. “I am. I’m trying.”

“This is well past trying. You are a Silva. Do better.” His voice was cold and cutting as a winter gale.

“I will,” she whimpered. F was right. Her brother was being cruel. “I want to talk to more mages about my magic. If I join the Silver Eagles-”

“You think that I would endorse you becoming a member in this state? You can’t control your magic any better than Noelle. The Silver Eagles would never lower their standards so much.” The frustration was leaking into his voice now. “Get your head out of the clouds, Nebra. You are not a Silver Eagle, and if you cannot fix this, you never will be.”

Her grip tightened on her dress. She felt completely hollow. “Ok,” she whispered. The fog had never felt thicker around her, but maybe it was just in contrast to how empty she felt inside. She heard Nozel turn, and his footsteps faded into the milky void. Solid lingered just a moment before following.

Nebra let her head fall onto her desk, lingering in mental limbo. Before her on the desk was her grimoire, a pile of stationery, and her ink and pen. With her fingers still twisted in her dress so tightly she feared the fabric might rip, she decided all at once that she needed to write to F. He would know what to do. He was the only one that would. She decided not just this, but that he was the only one that loved her. The only one that was real. 

She had started to untangle her fingers from her dress when a small hand landed on her own. Her gaze snapped to it, then to its owner: Noelle, staring up at her with wide, wet eyes. The little child looked so thoroughly distressed to see Nebra in this state that her purple eyes were overflowing. The older Silvas certainly had not taught her that kind of compassion.

Nebra mentally recoiled from her pity. _How dare she? How could she? I’m better than her! She’s pathetic! She can’t even control her magic!_ Fury rose in her stomach so hot and fast she thought she might be sick. Trembling, she lifted the hand Noelle had touched. She had never hit Noelle. Solid had, but Nebra had stuck to cutting words and cruel looks. Now she wanted nothing more than to lash out.

Noelle cringed.

The strike never came, though. Nebra crumpled. Her arms fell around the little child’s shoulders, and she pulled Noelle to her, and with a painful sob the tears started falling. She wept so hard her chest and body hurt. Through her tears, the world around her seemed to melt like hot wax. The months of alienation. This was what Noelle felt her whole life. And Nebra hated her for it.

Noelle rubbed her back and cried with her.

When Nebra wiped the last of the tears from her eyes, the fog was gone. Noelle had exhausted herself and fallen asleep in her lap. It was bittersweet. Nebra still hated her. If anything, she hated her more than ever, because she knew how close they had been. With the water that Noelle had drawn from her eyes, something else had left Nebra. She knew that F wasn’t real, somehow. An illusion of her mind, she decided. F was something about this incomprehensible spell, or her attempts to deal with it. She hated Noelle for taking that comfort away, too. Her many crimes were cemented in Nebra’s mind, and they would not soon be forgiven.

But for now, Nebra stroked the little girl’s hair in gratitude for freeing her from the limbo she had created.


	2. Different Frequencies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years have passed since Nebra's bout of illness, and she's tried her best to forget all about it. The pieces are already in motion, however, and a routine mission with Nozel turns into a serious skirmish that forces her to dig up the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Silvas try to open up about their feelings and just fail to understand each other. These things just don't come naturally for them. Actually Nozel opens up a lot! But still.
> 
> Big time skip here. Things lighten up after this chapter, though!

Nebra did not contact F again, and she did not mention him to anyone. She did her best to forget him completely. The last thing she needed was something to shake Nozel’s faith in her sanity when he already thought so little of her control over her magic. She felt that she never made up for the months of humiliating her family, and every new development was a test of her ability. She had to show him three new spells before he considered allowing her into the Silver Eagles. Her sixteenth birthday came and went before he decided to act sincerely on the thought, as if he wanted her to know that this was not a gift to be given, but a place to be earned. 

Even when she was made a member, she rarely left the capital for her first few years as a magic knight. When she had thoroughly cut her teeth on the lesser criminals, the thieves and launderers and bribers, Nozel finally allowed her to accompany him on more risky missions. Nebra had at first taken it as a sign that he had forgiven her. Their relationship seemed to mend, and for a while she was relieved of her guilt. But soon enough she realized the watchful eye he kept on her and how he put himself between her and their enemies, no matter the situation. He didn’t trust her. Once she realized his feelings, neither did she. And so she stayed by his side always and never mentioned it.

Nozel had just become captain, and Nebra had just turned twenty-one. They were traveling through a desert under a clear night sky, searching for a dungeon that had recently appeared. It was a location they had traveled often, though not for this reason. Nozel had spoken about it since he joined the Silver Eagles; the cool desert nights, the shimmering silver sand, the infinite stars... Before she had joined, she had dreamed of traveling to this beautiful place that her older brother spoke so highly of, and it had never disappointed her. Nozel’s mercury eagle reflected the stars beneath their feet, gently illuminating them like a nightlight. It was just the two of them, and Nebra was as relaxed as she could be while still watching the shifting sands shine in the moonlight. The air was crisp and cold and comfortably quiet until Nozel spoke up.

“Solid is looking forward to joining the Silver Eagles,” he murmured, his gaze not lifting from the sand.

Nebra straightened. She felt like she was being tested again. “I know.”

“He still has a lot to learn.” Her older brother sounded cautious. “I don’t think he’s ready.”

“Then test him like you did me. Have him come up with new spells.”

“That will be easy for him. His control over his magic isn’t my concern”

Something painful twisted in her chest. How did he know so easily that her weakness was on her mind? “What is the problem, then?”

“He still lacks maturity.”

Nebra watched the white fluff around his shoulders flutter in the wind. “Is that all?” she asked, forcing her voice to sound light. When he didn’t answer, she added, “I’m sure he’ll do less shame to our family as a magic knight than if he threw a fit about not becoming one.”

Nozel shook his head and glanced back at her over his shoulder. “That’s not what concerns me. You had many reasons to postpone becoming a magic knight and to think about what it meant. You knew your place by the time you became a Silver Eagle, and you still do.”

His words stung.  _ Must he drive in the stake? _

“Solid lacks your insight. I… don’t have an excuse to stop him from joining, but I can’t trust him to behave like you do.” He sighed deeply and looked down into the shifting mercury below them. His reflection warped with the rhythmic beat of the eagle’s wings. “The prospect of leading him into battle, knowing that he might bolt ahead at any moment…” He frowned. As he lifted his chin, his expression shifted to a cold mask. “Do you feel that?”

Nebra’s head snapped up. She had felt it as soon as he spoke- mana. Before them, a portal opened up. It spit them out in a dive toward the sand. The siblings leapt from the eagle's back as it smashed into the ground and splattered. Nozel whirled, and streams of mercury surrounded them, ready to defend on all sides. His grimoire glowed and rose before him. Mist billowed from Nebra’s own grimoire as her shoulders met his. It hung around her, ready to take shape once a target appeared.

Out of the sand all around them, mages rose up. A rust coloured grimoire glowed to her left and the sand took the shape of a charging ox. Mercury speared through it, and the ox crumbled into a spray of dust. She sent out tendrils to her right, forming sharp edges from the flowing vapor to cut through vines that rose up from the parched earth. 

Nebra fired blasts of mana into the gathered mages. Nozel’s mercury shot out in all directions, zigging and zagging through the air to land hard blows on the ones she missed. “Scatter, insects!” she laughed as their attacks cut through the mob. She could see blood spray and hear the cracks of bones breaking- a suitable punishment for those who challenge the eldest siblings of House Silva, and an easy distraction from her self-doubt.

She sensed Nozel’s mana coiling in his legs indicating he was about to move with enhanced strength. Nebra did the same, but the movement of the vapor on Nozel’s skin told her he hesitated and turned to check on her, and his leap was slower as they sprang apart. The ground exploded beneath where they had been standing. The head of a massive sand bull tossed its horns and raked the air before the Silvas blasted it apart. The wall of sand between them remained, though, billowing up in a blinding dust.

Nebra’s grimoire vomited thick fog into the air, blinding their opponents in retaliation. Nozel, too, would be impaired, but she trusted in his superior mana sense to pick up the slack. She needed to know where he was.

The vapor quivered as he put his weight down on one ankle. An injury for his hesitation. Her heart sunk for just a moment before anger buoyed it back up in her chest. “True Mist Clone!” copies of her appeared throughout the mist cloud, targeting the mages within it at point blank. Bodies hit the sand. Nozel’s mercury encircled her clones and her original self in rings of silver before whipping out, cleaning up what Nebra left behind. “I’m fine!” Nebra yelled to him.

But Nozel gestured for her to return; something only she could make out in the mist. Like a silent “olley-olley-oxen-free,” from when they played as children. She answered by brushing her hand over the tendril of silver around her. It tightened around her and lurched to his side. They stood again back to back, alert and ready.

The desert had fallen silent around them. The dry air slowly depleted her fog. Nozel straightened, forcing his shaking ankle to take his weight evenly.

“That was fun,” Nebra said, lifting a bent finger to her smirking lips. “What do you think they were trying to accomplish?”

“Stopping us from accessing the dungeon, maybe.” He looked her over critically before turning back to the sand. “We didn’t catch the spatial magic user,” he noted.

Her smirk fell as she looked over the bested rogues. “... You’re right. They must have fled.”

The pages of his grimoire flipped as he looked for a binding spell, but he stopped when his eyes landed on something else. It was a loose sheet of paper, looking like it had been torn from some other book. As Nozel's eyes fell on it, red started to bleed into the white fur of his cloak. 

"Nozel!" Nebra scrambled to catch him as his injured ankle buckled. He sunk against her. Her hands were immediately slicked with blood. Panic rose in her throat, and she threw up her mist again. Yes, someone else's mana was there. It didn't feel unfamiliar, but that didn't comfort her.  _ One of the mages we were fighting? _ Everything around her was still. Nozel's grimoire fell to the ground with a quiet thump. Her attention snapped back to her brother. She dragged his robe open and looked at the gash across his chest. She had to lean the whole length of her forearm against it to apply pressure. With her free hand, she grabbed the communication device off his belt. "This is Nebra Silva of the Silver Eagles! Nozel is severely injured. We need assistance right away!"

"Assistance is on the way," a voice reported back.

Nebra's nerves didn't settle. Nozel was looking paler by the second, and there was nothing she could do but slow the bleeding. Someone was there, their mana lingering on the edge of her attention, but she didn't have a target. She didn't even know the origin of the attack. In her panic, the fog started to swirl quickly around her, and she couldn't glance anything from the movements of the vapor but her own impotence. She squeezed her eyes shut, frustrated and terrified. "Nozel, please hold on!"

Something fluttered past her head. It landed on her wet sleeve. She didn't open her eyes. Didn't look. Not until she felt mana she knew for sure appear. Squadmates, ones with healing and defensive magic. She sucked in shaky breaths and forced her mist to fall so they could collapse around her and attend to Nozel. Her entire body was shivering as she stumbled out of their way. Nozel hadn't moved since he hit the ground.

But now he was lifted, carefully, and carried through a portal. Nebra followed close after. They were back at the Silver Eagle base. Every healing mage in the squad had to be there, clustered around her brother. One signaled to get a royal doctor. Nebra's hands clutched her hair.  _ How did this happen? He was fine! We won! _

She could only hang back out of the way until the royal doctor arrived. She could feel the huge amount of mana he used. Was he bringing Nozel back from the  _ dead? _

Nozel gasped as if he had. And Nebra did as well. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. The other healing mages stepped back, relief rippling through them. Nebra rushed to her brother's bedside. She didn't know how much time had passed. Nozel looked terribly pale. Like he was still on the cusp of death. His chest was still exposed, enveloped in glowing magic, and she could see the gash's edges twitching and pulling unnaturally together. It seemed the hardest part had been done. Whatever internal damage had finally been fixed, and now it was superficial. At least, that's what she hoped.

She grasped Nozel's hand. "Brother…"

He blinked up at her tiredly.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

It didn't look like he could see or hear her. His eyes swam about the room, searching, before they slipped closed. Nebra's pulse quickened. Her gaze snapped to the doctor, but the doctor was still busy at work and not raising any alarm. Nozel's chest was still rising and falling; weak as his breathing was, it was stable. All she could do was wait.

Nozel’s mana poured down on the room like a waterfall, washing away any heat and making the furniture rattle. The freezing air stung to inhale and stiffened the muscles. The force of it fell on the shoulders of everyone in the room, making even Nebra and Solid sink low under its weight where they sat at his bedside. It was unfair to Nozel to tell him when he had so little chance to compose himself, and it was unfair to the squadmates that had to report it, but it wasn’t something that could be put off. So, in a state where the medicine and painkillers had yet to lift the pain, but still took the edge off Nozel’s critical thinking, the report had been made. Her brother couldn’t sit up straight or take a deep breath, but he leered from his throne of pillows and curled his fingers into the sheets, tendons standing out on the back of his hands. His expression remained even, for it had no need to display the rage his mana was so palpably expressing. “What do you mean my grimoire is gone?”

“I-I am sorry, Captain Silva. It wasn’t there when we arrived, and we combed the desert extensively,” their squadmate stammered. “The only clue was a note from the culprit…” He struggled to lift his arm. The blood splattered paper it held bent as if pushed down by a strong wind. Nozel’s mana caught it and hurled it to the ground.

Around him, there was a glimmer like tiny snowflakes. Alarm pulsed through Nebra and she let her gaze fall. “Brother…” she whispered.

“...Be gone,” Nozel commanded, taking a shaky inhale. The tiny drops of mercury faded, and the man fled, all too aware of how close he had been to receiving a royal’s unbridled and undeserved fury. Nozel’s mana receded, leaving the room’s air empty and brittle. He leaned his head back on his pillow and sighed. “Bring me the paper, Solid.”

Solid lacked his usual snide mood. Obediently, he retrieved the paper. Though his eyes scanned it, they obviously didn’t find anything that helped, and he delivered it to Nozel’s waiting hand without comment.

Nozel lifted it to his face. But only a glance saw him dropping it with exasperation. It fell, face down, onto his bandaged chest. “Those idiots.”

With child-like trepidation, Solid rested his hand on Nozel’s shoulder. Nebra knew what it was like to be caught between concern for her brother, who they had never seen reduced to such a state before, and fear that, hurt and cornered, their protector might turn into a threat. Nozel had never hurt them, but they had never seen him like this. His mood seemed capricious and unnatural, and because one role that was once considered unassailable- Nozel as the unbeatable, composed victor- had been crushed, it felt like other safe and familiar roles might follow. “H… How are you going to get your grimoire back?”

Nozel’s answer came slowly, pauses spaced out to conceal pained breaths. “We will question the mages we captured. When we locate their base of operations, I will retrieve it and bring them to justice.” He handed the paper on his chest to Nebra, thoughts elsewhere. “This is no way for a squad captain and the eldest of House Silva to perform. It will not happen again… Now leave me.” His eyes slid closed.

Solid rose stiffly and started out. He paused near the foot of the bed, looking back at Nebra.

Nebra was staring at the paper. She had seen it before. Why had Nozel kept this? Why had he given it to her now? What did it mean? Animating all at once, she rose. Her eyes darted between Nozel and the paper, and she sprang past Solid. Something between urgency and intuition had hit her seconds after recognizing her own adolescent handwriting, the carefree doodles, and most of all the single word:  _ “Dearest,” _

Nebra slammed the door to her drawing room and locked it behind her. Not that Solid was close behind, but she needed to be certain she was alone. She hurried to the desk and dropped her worn letter on its surface. So thorough were her attempts to bury the embarrassing memory of F that she spent little time in her drawing room, and even less at her desk. She hadn’t opened the drawers in it since she had read the last letter he sent her. Now she dragged it open forcefully and hauled out the pile of letters. She dumped them onto the desk and stopped short.  _ Were there really this many? What was I thinking? _ Shame colored her cheeks as she dug through the letters in search of the first. They weren’t organized in any way, and they weren’t dated. Nebra couldn’t hate her stupid, fifteen-year-old self any more than she did then. 

But she eventually found the letter that started “ _ Dear, Nebra.” _

Her heart pounded, seeing it. Did she notice when she was younger that she was being called ‘Dear’? Was that F’s intention? Her feelings first reading it came back. Her cheeks warmed, and she put the letter aside, like it was too bright to take in. “No,” she hissed, rubbing her pink cheeks. “How can you still feel like this? Nozel. This is about Nozel,” she admonished herself. Taking a deep breath, she started to read the letter again. She tried to keep herself composed, but warmth was wiggling its way into her chest. 

She read it as quickly as she could, just to get through it, and grabbed the next closest letter. Reminding herself that she was looking for a connection, she read on. Something in the back of her mind noted how little these letters reminded her of Fuegoleon, now. How F asked strange things about her life. How he mentioned things much too romantic for the Vermillion to say to her younger self. Older and smarter now, she saw that there were red flags, but the more she read, the more they melted into a rosy background. She wanted to smile. She wanted to giggle. She wanted to clutch the letters to her chest and roll around in bed, squealing excitedly. It was like being thrown back to her first crush.

Nebra fought the sensation. In the back of her mind, she was still worried. An awareness of the situation remained: she suspected this person had some connection to the mages that had stolen Nozel’s grimoire and nearly killed him.  _ But maybe! _ The lonely young girl inside her peeped,  _ Maybe F will help! _

It wasn’t until Nebra reached to turn on the lamp at her desk that she realized she had been reading all day. There were so many letters. So many feelings. As the light flicked on, Nebra found the last. She rubbed her eyes as they scanned it. Trying to hold her own against her feelings was exhausting, and the letter reminding her of Nozel’s cruelty felt like salt in a wound. Wistfully, she wondered what F wanted to ask of her. She looked at the bloody letter she had never finished- never really started- before Nozel stopped her. 

Her brother’s blood brought some clarity. There had been no connection. F wasn’t related. She breathed a sigh of relief and morbid disappointment.  _ Did I want to hear from him again, even if this was the occasion? _ Her head swam. She started to pile the letters together, fighting the urge to write back. Taking the stack in both hands, she leaned over the open drawer to put them away.

There was another letter in the drawer. She gasped and dropped the stack. Paper scattered all across the floor. Snatching the new letter with childlike glee, she ripped the envelope open and read:

_ Dearest, N, _

_ I want to say, first, that I apologize for my long silence. I took your lack of reply as a lack of interest, but I realize that was wrong. It seems that there were other factors keeping your hands tied, and the blame falls on me for leaving a lady such as yourself unanswered. Please, accept my late congratulations on your joining the Silver Eagles. Their robes suit you very well. You embody the beauty and power of a magic knight and a royal better than anyone else. I hope this all brings you some comfort, even in hard times. _

_ And I am also sure, if you still think about me after all this time, that you are wondering what I wanted from you all those years ago. Do you remember the secrets we shared? The feelings? Our confidence in one another? I need to be certain that you still feel the same way before I tell you. That you share this with no one. What we had was something quite intimate and special. I can’t imagine breaking that bond. Answer me truthfully, and I will respond in kind. _

_ Hopefully reunited, _

_ ~F _

Nebra didn’t trust herself to write much, but she couldn’t stop herself from responding.  _ I need to do this for Nozel first and myself second. There is a connection here. There has to be. _ The part of her mind that was rational knew that this was too much to be a coincidence. Both rational and emotional sides of her were desperate to know how F was related. She scribbled out the letter, writing as quickly as she could to avoid overthinking and overfeeling.

_ F, _

_ I will tell no one. I still feel strongly, but I need the truth. Who are you? How did you contact me? What do you know about “hard times?” What are your feelings? Why should I believe you? Tell me everything. If I feel you are withholding anything from me, I will reject you for my better interest. You know a royal has options. _

_ -N _

Nebra put the letter in her drawer, for lack of any better plan, and she paced. That familiar suspicion that this was fake returned. The anticipation felt sickly. “This was a mistake,” she hissed, and she stepped out of her room. It was late; she should sleep, but she knew she wouldn’t. She was worried about Nozel. She was thinking about F. She dragged herself to bed and curled up under her covers, mind racing. 

The next morning, Nebra crawled sleeplessly out of bed. She should report to the Silver Eagles base- both in general and about  _ this _ , but Nozel was the only one who could call her on such a thing, and she was doing this for him. Besides, she had promised to hold her tongue. She went to her drawing room and, breath held, opened the drawer. F had answered.

_ Dearest, N, _

_ Your questions are well founded. You were always so intelligent. It is a wonder you spent your valuable time on me. I take it as an indication of destiny that we get along so well, and your kindness that you would entertain me. I will start with my identity. _

_ I never lied to you, except through exception. I am not Fuegoleon Vermillion. I am a man of noble birth who greatly admires your strength and grace. Though my manor fell early on in my life to political competition, I still hold firmly to my origin and etiquette. It is clear that I am far beneath you, and so I accepted the opportunity presented by my mistaken identity to express my admiration and affection. Since I first wrote you, I have acquired power unconventionally. I will extrapolate on this later in my letter, but I only mention as much to say that I keep the standards of nobility. To associate with me is not to associate with peasantry, and should we meet I can offer you a great deal of luxury.  _

_ As for contacting you, that is now a quality of my magic. At first I took advantage of your manifested magic to plant my note when my presence could not be detected in your castle. I hope this does not come as any great offense; I made no habit of it, and I played no role in triggering your illness. I have courier magic which grants me the ability to ensure nearly any message, package, or sentiment reaches its recipient in mind, body, or spirit. Once we had a line of connection, the delivery of my messages and yours were assured by destiny. When we first wrote, my power was as young as yours. It was limited to mere written word and sentiment. Now, I assure you, I can do much more. We have both grown in parallel, and while a noble will always be a step behind a royal, I believe our abilities could be quite complementary. _

_ And now we must speak of my unconventional acquisition of power and its relationship with hard times. Know that this was not my intention on first contact with you, and this action was taken with no consideration to our relationship. Many spells of mine require a great deal of self sacrifice; that is, the destruction of my grimoire. These notes, to properly reach you, are written on its pages. There is nothing to be done about that, and my grimoire is large, destined to accommodate this treatment. However, it instilled in me from a young age a fascination with grimoires (I am certain the timing of my interest in you can attest to this.) Through my study and the affinity of my magic, I can glean a great deal of knowledge about and enact many positive effects on others through observing and manipulating these sacred texts. There are many who value this service, and so I live very comfortably. But my strength is also my weakness. I do have a dire greed for particularly magnificent grimoires, and if pressed into service, will do most anything to obtain them. Do you understand, Dearest N? I have Nozel Silva’s grimoire. _

_ But that should speak to my benevolence and my feelings. For one, it shows that I did not intend Nozel’s grave harm. Should he die, his grimoire would disappear. I had complete faith in the Clover Kingdom’s best doctors and in you to save him. Still, the delivery of such a blow, if destined, cannot be avoided, and I am relieved that the harm done can be repaired. It also shows that I mean absolutely no harm to you, that I value your consent in any arrangement we make, and that I intend to make this right between us. I am speaking of my feelings now; I am sure you have seen foreshadowing on the topic.  _

_ As I have said before, I never lied. I admire your powerful magic, your regal beauty, and your acerbic wit. Forgive me. I must be forward, for my feelings have been a long time restrained, and you yourself said that withholding anything means rejection. I harbor great respect and great affection for you, and should you wish it, I will arrange your delivery into my arms. Nozel’s grimoire will be returned when I am done with it, and you may leave at any time, but I assure you that you won’t want to. I will, with all my power, claim anything you desire, even if I must bend fate. Search your heart, and you will know my words to be true, but I will offer you more still. I will tell you a small bit of what I glean from Nozel’s grimoire, which you may confirm. And then I will give you my plan for us, for everyone feels more comfortable when they know what action to take.  _

_ Nozel Silva is proud and loyal. This much is well known. However, tucked into the spine on his grimoire, on pages between two defensive spells, I found your incomplete note to me. He held onto this for years, afraid that you had strayed into something outside of his control, and that he had not been vigilant enough. It was outside of his understanding, and this scared him. Control is the overarching theme of his spells because he wants to be able to constrain any oncoming disaster before it can hurt his loved ones. But this is also the source of his cruelty. People are not so easy to manipulate as magic, at least not for him. Thus, his hands and his words are as heavy as his mana. His inability to communicate his feelings drives him to toxicity and destruction that those around him do not deserve. If you ask him why he kept your letter, he will imply that you were childish and weak-willed, and then he will reference one of many repeated phrases or images that I believe originate in the Silva family. _

_ Once you have your answers, you can decide with all the information at your disposal what you would like to do. A joint mission to investigate a thieve’s den in the east will be sent out in the next week, and will intercept with my subordinates. If you like, you can meet me there. I have complete faith in your ability to slip away from others, even capable mages like those of the Magic Knights. Please, bring no one else with you. This will be special for both of us. _

_ Soon is not soon enough, _

_ ~Ferdinand Penchant _

Nebra could hardly think over the thrum in her chest and the whoosh of blood in her ears. Her body was reacting, but her head felt empty. All the thoughts and feelings had boiled over halfway through the letter. She didn’t know what she should feel. Rubbing her temple, she decided that this was what she had wanted. She could test his claims of nobility at the royal library, and his claims about Nozel at her brother’s bedside. Then… what? Would she meet him?

Yes, she would. Heat burbled into her chest, and then her head. She would meet him, but not because of that. She decided the heat was anger. No man could make her abandon House Silva. She would take Nozel’s grimoire back herself, as was her royal right, and she would make Ferdinand pay.

She pinned the letter to her desk, unwilling to crinkle it. These feelings that colored her cheeks and quickened her pulse. They were hatred. Her desires to meet him. They were for the purpose of bringing him agony. The happiness this brought her. It was because he was foolish enough to meet her wrath. It had nothing to do with the reality of her adolescent crush. That she had not imagined someone’s affection. That there was someone who thought highly of her. No. It was about revenge. About justice. 

Nebra swept the note into her drawer and closed it tightly. She had never felt more confident, but then again, everyone feels more comfortable when they know what action to take. Her grimoire flipped open and mist surrounded her. It opened the window and swept her out.

The historical archives of the royal library told of the fall of House Penchant. It wasn’t dramatic; it matched what Ferdinand had said exactly: competition had driven them into decline less than a decade ago. Nebra might have thought this end appropriate for any house that could not stand its political ground, but something about this particular fall spurned a defensive objection in her, and when she walked into Nozel’s room, she was in an even angrier mood.

Her confidence skipped a beat when she saw him. He looked better than he had yesterday, but only because his bandages were now covered by light Silvan robes and he was composed. Physically, he still looked like he was too pale, and he didn’t have the strength to sit up yet. 

His eyes were closed, but he waved his hand dismissively, even though a greeting was more appropriate. “What is it, Nebra?”

_ Ask, _ she commanded herself. “... Why did you keep my letter?” She was surprised by the accusative tone in her voice.

His eyes cracked open. He focused on her intently through narrowed eyes. “...It wasn’t a letter, Nebra, unless you were writing to yourself. Fifteen is too old for imaginary friends. You should have been working on your spell.”

Her brow furrowed. “I was.”

“Sure, Jan,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Is your lack of focus and resolve as a child all you want to speak to me about?”

She put her bent finger over her mouth and leered at him indignantly.  _ He doesn’t appreciate what I do for him. _ “You were the one keeping my childhood things in your grimoire. Maybe you needed to grow up, not me.”

He blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

_ That was too much.  _ Nebra spun on her heel and marched out. What was she doing berating her brother while he laid recovering in bed? She had gotten her answer. Now she just needed his grimoire. That meant getting into that joint mission without Nozel finding out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (That joke about Nozel opening up a lot was not nice.)  
> (Also the repeating phrases/images that originate from Silva grimoires are memes. This is a completely serious, not silly fact to include while Nozel lies in bed recovering from near-fatal injuries. This is the one he's referencing: https://media.tenor.com/images/190556c7d20c84df9913b76640290d54/tenor.gif )
> 
> Also, I really would like to know what ya'll's impression about F is, just from this. He's a means to an end, but I really enjoyed writing him and I think that much will probably be obvious.


	3. A Clean Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nebra must sneak away to meet with F and take back her brother's grimoire. Unfortunately, she draws the attention of a certain Vermillion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be my favorite chapter to be entirely honest, where the previous chapter was my least favorite. The nonsense begins.

There were many privileges to being a royal, and one of them was that if you put yourself somewhere and looked very much like you thought you belonged there, no one would challenge you on the fact. Nebra reported to the captain of the Black Bulls that she would be joining them, and then ignored him so thoroughly that he knew she would hear no objection. His relatively young squad wasn’t large, and she guessed he needed all the help he could get. Her gaze drifted over the gathered magic knights: the few Black Bulls had their numbers bulked up by stragglers from other squads. One of the bulls peeled away from his captain’s side and strolled over to her. He wasn’t one to demand her full attention, and she only noted him in her peripheral vision. His approach was airy and his steps light, as if he were confident, but the way he slid in, only one shoulder forward, colored him in a weak and submissive light. Before he could speak, she shut him down. “Be gone, thot. I am taken.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he peeped, and retreated like the coward he was.

She placed her bent finger to her lips, hoping that the heat in her cheeks didn’t show.  _ Taken? Why did I say that? _

“Lady Silva,” a stronger, more respectable voice greeted. Nebra’s gaze snapped around to see Fuegoleon Vermillion approaching. In contrast to the black bull’s approach, his steps were sincerely confident, his shoulders were back, and his chin high. “What a surprise. I thought you and Nozel were still investigating that desert dungeon,” he said lightly.

She straightened. Though her posture was already impeccable, it was a force of habit to reassess oneself in the presence of another royal- especially the handsome Vermillion. Her gaze traveled over his features with the excuse of sizing him up. Normally, she would be happy to have his attention, but now she had other priorities. The Silver Eagles had not made it known that their captain was injured and grimoire-less, and Nebra wouldn’t start now. “We returned recently.” Her eyes narrowed as she teased, “Did you expect us to report to the Crimson Lion’s  _ vice  _ captain about it?”

Perhaps poking the lion was not the best tactic when she wanted to lose his focus. If anyone were to address her unexpected presence, it would be Fuegoleon. He inhaled, puffing his broad chest. “Of course not, but it is unlike Nozel to put off making a report. If I didn’t know better I would say his new position is getting the better of him.”

She shrugged and made an effort to hold her tongue. Bantering with him the entire trip would make her mission a lot more difficult.

“Does he know you’re here?” the Vermillion pressed.

“Why would you ask that?” she scoffed. “I don’t need my brother’s permission to join a mission.”

“You’re right. You don’t need your brother’s permission.” He crossed his arms and shifted to lean closer to her. She couldn’t tell if the action was concerned or threatening. “You need your captain’s.”

“I have it,” she said evenly, meeting his purple gaze. Nebra knew herself to be a good liar, but as Fuegoleon scrutinized her, she felt that he knew something she didn’t. She let out a condescending giggle. “Are you going to make us wait and go ask him?”

He held her gaze a bit longer- long enough that she thought he might call her bluff- but he finally relented. “Of course not. I’m just so used to seeing you two together.” 

His attention turned to the Black Bull captain as the muscular man put his hands on his hips. “Guess that’s everyone. Let’s go. Finral!” His weak little mage made a portal, and the group stepped through.

The spatial mage could only take them so far. They were dropped at the edge of a large forest in the common realm. The trees’ thick trunks, wider around than Nebra was tall, stretched high above them, and their leaves blocked out the sun, allowing only the rarest patch of dim, dappled light. Looking up into the canopy was like staring into a green night sky with rare embers of fiery gold stars. They traveled the rest of the way on foot, on broom, and on whatever manifestations of their own magic they saw fit. 

Nebra hovered on a cloud of mist above the rest of the squad. While walking a long distance did not appeal to her in the least, that was not her primary reason. Fuegoleon was on the ground. She couldn’t shake the feeling that he was keeping a watchful eye. His march was steady, and he surveyed the area with routine alertness.  _ Am I paranoid, or does he keep looking at me from the side of his eye? _ She let the vapor spread from her cloud in wispy tendrils over the group, examining the magic knights without having to look at them or draw their attention. The soft pull of their bodies through the water gave her a fuzzy image of their movements.

All the while, her eyes were surveying the warm undergrowth. She tried to ignore the ringing in her chest and think of things in a rational way. It wouldn’t help to bring out an anticipatory flush in her cheeks- from anger. An angry flush. Nebra pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated with herself.  _ Focus, will you? You need to watch for your opportunity. _ How would she know when to sneak away? Would Ferdinand’s subordinates create a distraction? She had to trust that he would lead her clearly; it was what he had promised, after all.

“You seem on edge.” Words too quiet to hear, but they shook the mist with clarity for Nebra, as if they had been spoken aloud.

She bristled. Her eyes flickered to Fuegoleon and caught his gaze for a moment before darting away, askance. How had he noticed she was watching? Even with his superior mana sense, her mist should have been thin enough to avoid notice…  _ Unless he didn’t know. _ She swallowed, cursing herself. She had been caught in the Vermillion’s trap. He knew enough about how her magic worked to guess she would be sensitive to his words if she were watching him closely, and now he had confirmed his suspicions that she was. But to what end? Why did he care? And what had triggered his suspicion in the first place? Nebra had enough to worry about without Fuegoleon giving her extra attention. She wanted her escape right away, before she would have to address the exchange of information that had just occurred between them. 

The timely granting of her wish felt too fortuitous to be coincidence. Maybe Ferdinand had received her sentiment. Strange mana signaled the arrival of enemies; bandits emerged from the underbrush, flinging gusts of slicing wind, piercing ice shards, and woody spines. Fuegoleon’s mana burst, incinerating the projectiles that came within inches of his skin. The captain of the Black Bulls met the attacking magic with slices of a darkness-cloaked blade. The other magic knights were quickly taking position, launching a counterattack. In the moment of ambush, this fight looked evenly matched, but Nebra could tell through her fog that the enemy forces were fewer than they seemed. This fight wouldn’t last. 

A thrill pulsed through her. She thickened the mist around her before pulling it into shape. True mist clones appeared in the midst of her group. They blasted into the underbrush, joining her comrades in the defense. She directed one clone to jump down and land at Fuegoleon’s side. If he wanted to pay so much attention to her, that would convince him. She slipped away from the group concealed in her own haze of mana and lowered gently to the ground far behind enemy lines. Stretching her abilities as far as they would go, she crept away from the battle.

The mist clone beside Fuegoleon lost its grace and power as the distance between them grew. It took most of her focus to make it keep its shape and a convincing magical presence. The Vermillion picked up the slack, blocking projectiles and putting himself between it and the enemy. “Nebra-!” he started, maybe to ask what was wrong, or to point out another attack, but there was no time. He threw himself in the way of a particularly large wooden spine. His magic reduced it, but didn’t stop it. It grazed his shoulder. Only a few drops of blood were ripped from the wound. Regardless, they hit the clone and it burst into mist.

Nebra’s connection to the skirmish was severed. She drew in her mana, concealing it as deeply as she could. From now on she would travel on foot, lest her cloud provide too easy a target for mana sensing. If someone wanted to find her, they would have to be nearly on top of her.

Nebra hated traveling through a forest. She hated dirt. She hated bugs. She hated twigs grabbing at her clothes, and she hated not knowing where she was going. She hated being alone. Most of all, she hated that fear and suspicion were worming into her mind. What if this wasn’t right? What if Ferdinand was a liar after all? There was nothing to find? Running her hands down her face, Nebra stopped to rest. The cool of the forest had kept her from sweating much, but even a small bit was undignified. The faint dappled lights from the canopy, sparser now, were a low blue. She expected the sun was falling in the sky. Night was approaching. If she really found Ferdinand, she would give him a real tongue-lashing before she ripped Nozel’s grimoire from his cold, dead hands.  _ When I find him…  _ Nebra self-consciously tidied her bangs.  _ He better not think this is the best I can look! _

Different types of sounds, creatures of the night, were starting to arise by the time the trees parted. A thin slice of sky split the canopy, letting the last of the day’s light shine down onto a narrow dirt road. A horse in riding gear nosed gingerly through the leaves at the forest’s edge. Nebra’s heart skipped when she saw a figure beside it. He was standing, waiting. His short, black hair, combed neatly back, had an elegant curl like cursive letters, and he was tall, handsome, and broad-shouldered. He was dressed in clothes that were, in style, plain. However, the details revealed wealth and standing: the customized golden cufflinks, the elegant patterned stitch, the handcrafted kid gloves. This meticulousness was mirrored even in the saddlery of his horse.

Nebra straightened as their eyes met: her pink to his green. He smiled knowingly. Taking him all in, she knew Ferdinand was a man of his word. Not just of it, but embodying it. Her steps were a bit too quick, her breathing too shallow with excitement, as she approached. She extended a hand and he took it. His movements were ones of grace and dignity as he bowed low to bring his lips to it. Color rushed to her face so quickly, she felt dizzy, only supported by the pinning force of his eyes as he gazed up at her through his long lashes.

His other hand gently traced the space between her fingers. Her skin tingled at the softness of his gloves. “What did I say, dearest N?”

Speaking to him was as easy as writing. She could read him- with all the weight of such a loaded phrase intended- like a book. Gesturing for him to rise with a flick of her wrist, she stepped into his embrace. “Into your arms,” she breathed.

He was steady. She could feel the firm muscle under his clothing. His grip on her was gentle, but insistent. “I’ve wanted to hold you like this for a long time,” he murmured in her ear. His fingers traced words into her spine.

“Me too.” Nebra shivered and rested her cheek on his shoulder. Thoughts rose up in her mind, but receded before she could grasp them, slipping away like waves between one’s toes at the beach. She sighed deeply and slowly drew back. Something in her wanted to raise an objection. This wasn’t why she met him.  _ Was it? _

His hands slipped from her back to her waist, and trailed down her arms to hold her hands. “What is it, Nebra?”

“Ferdinand…”  _ Ask him something. Anything. _ Her mind was trying to raise its defenses, but her heart’s beating shook apart the foundations of any walls before they started.  _ Nozel. _ She inhaled sharply, her thoughts pulling together now that they had something to crystalize around. “Where is my brother’s grimoire?”

“Somewhere safe,” he promised. “Shall we go?”

“Yes… yes, let’s go,” she said, growing more certain as she spoke. Nebra released his hand and lifted one finger to her lip as she tipped her chin up. “I’ve come far enough for you. I won’t walk another step.”

“Of course not. May I?” With her permission, he lifted her from the ground and placed her on his horse’s back.

Nebra’s cheeks colored at his strength and grace. Riding a horse was old-fashioned and rustic. The idea of being placed on some sweating, filthy animal never appealed to her when she lived so far removed from them at House Silva, but this wasn’t how she had pictured it at all. The horse was more of an accessory, groomed to shining regality. The saddle was comfortable over its broad back, and she enjoyed the cool night and the forest passing. Fireflies flashed blithely around them, and the creatures of the night sang. It was a dream. A fairy tale. Hands folded in her lap, she watched Ferdinand lead them through the darkening trees. In a pack at his back, she saw a large compartment and guessed, from its shape and size, that it must contain his grimoire.“This hardly feels real,” she murmured.

“It is real,” he assured her, glancing back easily to meet her eye.

Blood rushed loudly in her ears. “I know.” She rolled her eyes. “You need not state the obvious.”

He smiled at her. “Then I need not say you are beautiful?”

And just like his letters, she couldn’t look directly at him; the intensity of her feelings was too great. Tracing the paths of the fireflies through the air, she said, “You… you may say that.” Struggling to regain the upper hand, she declared, “But you should know you’re not the only one who says so.”

“I would hope not. You deserve more praise than one alone can give… But that doesn’t mean I won’t try,” he added smoothly.

_ This is not the upper hand, _ she floundered, face hot. “I mean I have had many suitors.”  _ Not a lie. _ “In the time we were apart, some of them were quite serious,”  _ But that was. _

He took a moment to consider that. Precious time for Nebra to regain her composure. “I trust your judgement,” he finally said. “And I trust the fact that you are here with me, now. Speaking of which…” The cadence of his voice, as easily followed as the rhythm in his writing, urged her to raise her eyes to the road ahead. An estate had come into view, large as any noble’s home in the Noble Realm. Around it was a low stone wall lit by periodic magical lamps. They flickered gently as if they contained flame inside their orbs of frosty glass, but the color inside changed slowly. A fountain within the walls reflected the light, further spreading its dim illumination. The garden, sprawling from the wall of the manor to the stone walls surrounding it in long strips of flora, looked meticulously organized. Each tree, bush, and flower patch was trimmed to perfect symmetry and never escaped its bounds. The building itself was broad and blocky, spreading out over the area instead of climbing high, except for a tower at each corner and one larger one at its center. Nebra guessed that trying to compete with the trees here in height would be foolish, and admired the practicality of it all. The stone was patterned with vines that were pruned as assiduously as the garden. Guards patrolled the grounds. “I have a room furnished just for you.” As they stepped through the gates, a stablehand met them to take the horse away. Ferdinand, with Nebra’s nodded consent, lifted her off its back and placed her delicately on the ground. His hands lingered on her waist as he said, “Of course, you can choose where you wish to sleep, and whether you want to do so alone.”

She scoffed and looked away, but she didn’t trust herself to answer that. At this rate, he was going to think blushing was her resting state. Nebra put out her hand. He accepted it and began leading her inside.

But they both stopped short. The hair on the back of Nebra’s neck stood, and Ferdinand’s grip on her hand tightened. They turned, both resisting an almost primal urge to shrink at the massive font of burning mana stalking toward them.

Fuegoleon marched through the stone gates. The guards’ barrage of attacks either smoldered to ash before reaching him, or blew back from the hot waves of magic power. It robbed the air of moisture, and even of oxygen, and shook it like a rolling thunder. The change in pressure pounded one’s eardrums, producing a near-deafening boom. No, the Vermillion was not messing around. He had arrived displaying his full power and authority. Nebra stepped back, her body acting without her mind’s approval, as he pointed at Ferdinand. “Unhand her, or face the wrath of the vice captain of the Crimson Lion Kings!” he commanded.

Ferdinand’s eyes were wide, and his grip on Nebra’s hand, though not uncomfortable, did reveal that this was very much not what he expected. “What is Fuegoleon Vermillion doing here?” he asked Nebra, voice somehow reaching her through the rumble of Fuegoleon’s mana.

She shook her head, throat dry. “He must have followed me.”

Ferdinand slowly released Nebra’s hand, but in the same instant, his grimoire appeared. The book was large in every dimension. Before it opened, its cover sloped down on account of about a fourth of its pages missing. It opened, and he gripped the corner of one page and tore off a thin strip. It fluttered out into the air, riding Fuegoleon’s mana with the apparent direction and purpose of a stray newspaper in the wind.

Fuegoleon frowned, unsure how to read such an action. The paper should, by all logic, be blown away or incinerated by his mana, but it twirled, apparently by chance, through the ebb and flow, and unfurled in front of his face. The fire mage’s eyes had followed it to its destination, wary but apparently not concerned. When it met his gaze, however, its luck was spent. It burnt apart. The Vermillion’s eyes widened, and he stumbled. All over his body, wounds appeared with virulent force, blood splattering like every attack aimed at him since he walked into the garden had hit at once. The force of his mana faltered, but he caught himself. His grimoire lifted, glowing.

“Stop! That’s enough!” Nebra cried. Her grimoire flipped open. “Mist Spider’s Binding Thread!” Mist enveloped Fuegoleon. His grimoire, cut off from its bound owner, dropped into the grass. The boom of his mana, already diminished, fizzled almost completely out. The persevering crackle left behind ate away at her spell, but Nebra pushed to replenish it so it wouldn’t lose its hold on him before she had the situation under control.

The guards- and Ferdinand- were holding their attacks.

“What’s going on?” Fuegoleon demanded. His bewildered gaze fixed on Nebra, and the fog hissed as he pushed against it. His wounds bled faster where the pressure it supplied diminished.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Nebra snapped, clenching her fist. The mist tightened, and he grit his teeth in pain.  _ Stop struggling! _

“If he reports us to the magic knights, that complicates things,” Ferdinand said darkly.

The image of kermit the frog biting his nails coupled with the phrase _Oh shit_ in her head. “That’s not why he’s here.”

The Vermillion tried to suck in a breath. She crushed it out of him.

“Why is he here?”

Her mind raced. She had to think of an excuse. She met her captive’s eyes for just a moment before looking away. They were narrowed in suspicion, caught between indignation and incensed betrayal. Nebra needed to say something that would fool Ferdinand, and something so brazenly wrong that Fuegoleon knew she wasn’t trying to fool  _ him _ . She still didn’t even know where Nozel’s grimoire was. This couldn’t end here. “He is my… my ex,” she stammered. Her gaze flickered back to him, and though she was never one to plead, she was hoping her expression was fraught enough to convince him to play along. She slowly eased her mist’s constriction, freeing his lungs for speech.

He took a ragged breath, still glaring at her with blazing fury. “Ex?”

Her throat tightened and her stomach sunk. She had already put him through a lot of pain and humiliation- maybe this was too much to ask. Or maybe he was convinced she had turned coat.

The destruction of her mist slowed and then ceased. “... Ex is a strong word when you disappeared without saying we were over,” he finally said. His words were crisply enunciated to tell her he meant more than he said. His expression still bore into hers, demanding answers.

But that she could handle. She let out a sigh of relief and pinched the bridge of her nose to paint it as exasperated. “You wouldn’t understand… I’m sorry, Ferdinand, this isn’t how I wanted things to go.”

Ferdinand was watching Fuegoleon grimly. A tightness in his jaw revealed his lack of composure as his grimoire closed. “What would you like me to do with him?”

“Don’t waste your magic on him,” she said, bending her finger and placing it to her lip to aim a leer down her nose at Fuegoleon. “Show me to my room. I’ll deal with him there.”

That may have been the wrong thing to say. Ferdinand’s expression soured further, brows pulling down over his eyes and lip twitching. “This can all be dealt with quickly and easily, and we can be on with our night. There is no reason for you to bloody your hands.”

Nebra giggled to buy herself some time to think. “Don’t be silly.” Strolling toward Fuegoleon, she picked his grimoire up from the grass. She examined it, trying to weigh risks and rewards in her head. Deciding she had no choice, she held it up with casual indifference. Ferdinand perked up at the same time Fuegoleon bristled. “You wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to get your hands on this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the fun. Secondhand embarrassment ahead.


	4. Whiplash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nebra explains her plan to Fuegoleon to the best of her abilities, but she can't convince him to stay out of her way. They learn more about their adversary(?) together, and he reveals some things to them.
> 
> (Or Nebra embarrasses herself, but Fuegoleon is more about why she's doing it than what she's doing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm told this chapter is my sibling's favorite, and I agree that it is fun. But it's also all over the place lol. Nabra is just... conflicted and horny.

The room he had set up for Nebra was nearly as large as her room at the palace, with one door to the hall and one to a private bathroom. A bay window looked out over the forest, dark now. The furniture was black, purple, and gold- elegant but a bit dark for her liking. Ferdinand lingered in the doorway of Nebra’s room, slowly paging through Fuegoleon’s grimoire and keeping an eye on the pair while she sat the Vermillion on her bed. His attention was divided. Obviously he wanted to focus on her, but magnificent grimoires were his weakness.

Nebra was counting on as much. Still holding Fuegoleon in her spell, she started to ease its grip, thinning it only enough that she could reach his wounds. Like most magic knights, she had some basic medical training. She was hoping that would be enough. It would be a good excuse to talk to Fuegoleon alone if she had to check on him regularly.

Keeping his arms pinned to his sides and his magic partially constrained felt like an appropriate measure. He was still pissed. Nebra could feel his glare drilling into her skin, and when she pulled his tattered cape off over his head, she could feel heat radiating from his body as he fought to contain his furious mana. His clothes were in tatters. As she tried to open his cloak, it and his undershirt came apart in thready patches. She inhaled sharply at the sight of his muscular, battered chest and reminded herself not to look too low.

“I’ll live,” he said bitterly, misinterpreting.

She put a hand over her mouth as she eased him onto his back, and fought a blush. “Send for a medicine kit, Ferdinand. This isn’t so bad… None of your mages have poison magic or anything like that, do they?”

He glanced up from the grimoire. “They do not. I could have a healer deal with this, you know.”

“I told you not to waste any magic on him,” she said firmly. “It’s best not to have him walking around right away, anyway. Let me convince him to cooperate.”

Ferdinand glared at Fuegoleon, who returned the look and the sentiment. “You are too kind, dearest.”

She flicked her wrist and commanded, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

He tapped his fingers along the spine of Fuegoleon’s grimoire before snapping it closed and walking away.

Nebra let a subtle mist hang in the air and flow into the hall to confirm that he was gone. “Why are you really here?” she hissed at Fuegoleon, pressing a patch of fabric over one of the more bloody wounds. It was one of the few that really concerned her. Keeping her hand on it saw her palm growing uncomfortably hot. She hoped he didn’t hurt himself, burning up like that.

“That’s what I should be asking,” he growled, extra hostility drawn out by her pressing his wound. “Who is that man? Why did you give him my grimoire?”

How to answer that? She turned away and let her hair fall over her shoulder to hide her face from him. “He is… a suitor of mine- Calm down!” she snapped, pulling her hand away from his burning, bleeding chest. She replaced it with her other hand as he tried to move, and a fresh stream of blood oozed out. “I am trying to keep you from dying!”

He grimaced and took a heavy breath to cool himself down. “I think, given the circumstances, I am being  _ very _ composed.”

Ferdinand returned. A servant trailing him with a large medical kit slipped inside and set it on the bed. Nebra searched through for painkillers- and hopefully tranquilizers. This would all be very difficult if he didn’t calm down and listen to her. Finding what she needed, she shook a generous dose of medication into her bloody hands. “Open your mouth,” she commanded, holding them out.

His breath was hot as a furnace. Still leering, he opened up and she dropped them onto his tongue. 

She watched carefully to ensure he swallowed, and then started cleaning his wounds. “Ferdinand, you’ll have to tell the cooks to prepare for one more- a meal in bed, most likely, and to remake things since dinner will be later. I want things fresh. And I suppose I might sleep in your room tonight. Obviously I need some reprieve…” Fuegoleon tensed beneath her hands. She pretended not to notice and rolled her eyes. “Can you do that for me, dearest?” Looking over her shoulder, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. “When you’re done you can even read your new book. I’ll send for you when I’m ready.”

Ferdinand frowned at her. This night was not going as he wanted. The weight of an impressive and unexpected grimoire in his hand was one comfort, though. She also didn’t miss his eyes taking her in. The idea of ending the night with her in his bed was another. That made her heart pound, and she nearly missed his answer over the thrum in her ears. “...Very well. Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do for you, now?”

Nebra fidgeted with whatever was in her hands, watching him. There was a lot she wanted from him, actually, now that her mind was sent down that path.

Fuegoleon cleared his throat loudly.

“Oh!” she peeped, looking back at him. She had been playing with his bandages. “I think… to tell Fuegoleon what is going on, we should have to loosen our… confidentiality agreement.”

He sighed. “Please only tell him about our personal relationship. I think some of the other details might give him the wrong idea.”

She nodded. “He doesn’t need to know more than is necessary to set things straight.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon.” With that, Ferdinand slipped out. Nebra sighed and tried to organize her thoughts. Luckily, Fuegoleon was starting to cool down, and he allowed her to work on him in silence for a few minutes.

Fuegoleon’s glare had softened to an annoyed leer by the time he spoke up. “If he’s a real suitor, why did you have to sneak off to see him?”

She had hoped his first question, at least, would be easier. “I… I haven’t told anyone about him,” she managed.

“So Nozel didn’t know you were going,” he said, unsurprised.

There was no reason to lie, but she still felt defensive. Mention of Nozel reminded her why she was here, too, and she felt a chilly guilt at having allowed the goal of retrieving his grimoire sink so far into the back of her mind. She didn’t want to think about that. Fuego’s cringe when she pressed an alcohol soaked piece of gauze to his wound was a mild distraction. Apparently the painkillers had not fully kicked in. “Why did you assume that?”

“Because he wouldn’t send you on a mission without someone else he trusts, and I was almost sure he didn’t know I was going.” He sighed heavily. “Now you’re my responsibility.”

Her cheeks colored indignantly. “I am no one’s responsibility! I don’t need your help.”

“How long have you known Ferdinand?” he pressed. “What do you know about him? You know he was concerned about the magic knights getting involved.”

This one was easier. “He hasn’t done much wrong, but it could be easily blown out of proportions if you misconstrue things. We’ve known each other for years. He’s a noble of the Penchant family, and he makes his fortune helping people with their grimoires.”

“Is that what he calls it?” Fuegoleon said bitterly.

_ Cranky because you’re aching, aren’t you?  _ Wounds cleaned and covered in gauze, she started to wrap a bandage around his chest. She had to pull him back into a sit and she was grateful he cooperated- not that she showed it. “You brought that upon yourself by attacking us.”

He stared at her in disbelief, brows pinched. “Are you eloping? You’re eloping with a thief to live in the woods?”

Her cheeks darkened. “You don’t know anything!” She hissed. “That’s not why I’m here. I just… need something from him.” Admitting that Ferdinand had Nozel’s grimoire would be stupid. He had been right; it would give Fuegoleon the wrong idea. “How did you even find me?”

“I may not train out in the forest as much as my sister, but it’s obvious that you’ve never had to conceal your physical presence in the woods before.” His gaze flickered briefly to the bag at her hip. “What did he steal from you?”

“He didn’t steal anything from me.” She pushed him back down onto the bed. The Vermillion landed with a grunt against the pillow, and her mana released him. “You can take care of any injuries you have below the belt yourself. Stay here, rest, and behave, and I promise I’ll tell you more later. I need to get ready for dinner.” She got up and strolled over to the dresser at the foot of the bed. It was stocked with fresh clothes, as soft and light as the ones she had arrived in. Black, purple, and gold, just like her room. The seams were intricate, and as she ran her fingers over them, she realized that they were cursive letters. Like Ferdinand's style, but with the addition of her favorite color. She held it to her chest, warm and fuzzy inside.  _ He’s so considerate! _

“Nebra!” She startled at Fuegoleon’s bark. He was sitting up in bed again. Maybe she should have given him more pills. Though the anger was still clear in the glint of his eyes, he was starting to look more concerned. The tension wouldn’t last on his face, aside from his furrowed brow. “You need to tell me exactly what you are trying to do. From where I stand, it looks like he’s either tricked you, or you are losing sight of what is in the best interest of the Clover Kingdom.”

She bristled. Anger pulled her to stand at full authority, to let her mana go. Something in her was shocked that she could direct all this anger, first stoked by Ferdinand, at Fuegoleon with such ease. The Vermillion’s words were like a pin’s point piercing an overfilled balloon. Vapor hissed and swirled around her, tumultuous and disorienting. Some streams of it seemed, in the moment, to writhe like serpents. Some shapes pulled to angry points or edges before twisting apart. “The last thing I need is some prying Vermillion questioning my loyalty and intelligence when his opinion was never asked in the first place. I am a Silva through and through. That is all I should need to tell you for you to know that I am fully capable of doing this on my own!”

She reigned in her mana. The fog fell. Fuegoleon was still sitting there. He looked unimpressed. Even more concerned for her. Nebra’s anger fizzled out.  _ Of course he’s not impressed. He’s used to Nozel’s mana. The other squad captain’s. The other Vermillions… _ She forced herself to keep standing straight, even as she looked away, cheeks coloring in humiliation.

“I don’t want to speak ill of you,” he said carefully. “But I am starting to suspect that Ferdinand is manipulating you… Either emotionally, or magically.”

Her response felt feeble before it had even left her lips. “He wouldn’t do that.” She wanted to say more to prove her point, but doubt was starting to squirm in her mind again like a parasite.  _ I’m sure it will go away. Once I spend more time with Ferdinand… _

“What do you need from him? Besides my grimoire.” His voice was even, but there would be no letting her forget about that. “I can help you if I know how.”

Nebra felt like she was sinking. Why couldn’t this evening go nicely? Why couldn’t she keep to her plans? “It’s not my place to say.”

He was testing. Testing her in a very different way than Nozel had. “Because he said you shouldn’t?”

Her throat felt dry. That wasn’t how it felt in her mind,  _ was it? _ She had good reasons for not wanting to tell him. She had made a promise, and he didn’t need to know about Nozel being defeated so soon after becoming captain, and he didn’t need another reason to villainize Ferdinand. Nevermind the fact that nearly killing her brother was villainous. She shook her head, but she couldn’t meet Fuegoleon’s gaze. Swallowing, Nebra crouched back in front of the dresser and scooped out a dress. “Just play along. I have a plan to defeat him if he doesn’t cooperate… but you saw how he follows my every word.” She could sense his gaze on her as she retreated to the bathroom and pulled the door closed behind her.

She drew a bath. Dinner would be very late, but her stomach was unsettled anyway. She needed to relax and clear her mind. As the bath filled with warm water, she let the bathroom fill with vapor. She undressed in the comfortable haze. The clothes she had arrived in were dirty and torn, and small scratches littered her arms and legs from the trek through the woods. Nebra stared at the dirt beneath her fingernails, indignation rising up in her. How could she have put herself through all that? She let her hair down and stepped into the shower. While the tub continued to fill, she scrubbed off her skin and brushed through her hair. There was a large selection of shampoos, conditioners, soaps, and scrubs- but not the ones her delicate hair preferred. She had never seen them anywhere but the House Silva, and she wondered if it was even within Ferdinand’s power to obtain them.

_ Ferdinand _ . The fog twisted, and so did an angry pang in her stomach.  _ Why didn’t I kill him the moment I saw him? _ She clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut. The water ran over her. It dripped from her fingertips, and she was thrown back into the memory of Nozel’s blood running down her hands. The mist writhed as if in pain, and her breath quickened.  _ He did the same thing to Fuegoleon! _ She thought about the Vermillion in the other room, wrapped up and healing. He had been trying to protect her.  _ Why didn’t I let him? _ The idea of Fuego incinerating her “suitor” felt so incredibly justified. It was so easy to direct her anger toward its true target now. Why was it so hard when he was standing right in front of her? She tried to imagine Ferdinand within her grasp. When her mist started to pull a shape together, her cheeks heated up and she backpedalled, anger dissolving. She swatted a hand through it with a flustered squeak.  _ Maybe I should wait until I’m clothed to confront this, _ she thought, holding a hand over her beating heart like she expected it to leap out of her chest.

Nebra fled the shower and grabbed her towel. Pressing her face into its soft fibers, she begged it to soak up the ambivalence inside her. She wrapped it around herself and leaned her hands on the vanity, only to draw one back as something stabbed into her palm. Her cross-shaped earrings. The symbol of her Sylva status felt cold and unyielding, and the edges sharp.  _ I don’t deserve to wear these until I return my brother’s grimoire,  _ Nebra thought, frustrated with herself again. She pulled her gaze away from them and met her own eyes in the mirror. Her reflection was fuzzy through the mist. It was just her, alone in the murky air. Chest aching, she turned off the faucet to the tub. She didn’t want to postpone dinner any longer; she stepped out of the bathroom.

The mist rolled out around her as she stepped into her room. She unwrapped her towel in preparation of dropping it onto the floor, only to freeze when her eyes met Fuegoleon’s.  _ How could I forget he was here?!  _ His face was rapidly reddening. She guessed hers was too. Pulling the towel tight around herself, her eyes darted away- anywhere but his face.

_ Oh no. Not THERE. _ He was in as compromised a situation as she was. His pants had been shredded by spells as much as his shirt had, and he had shed them to tend to his wounds below the belt, like Nebra suggested. He still had boxer briefs on, but they were rolled up to dab a wound on the back of his thigh. He laid on his stomach, twisting to reach it. It was certainly a strain; she guessed he couldn’t be pushing himself like that if he weren’t on painkillers, but as he was, she got a view of his broad chest and his bandages stretching tight against the muscle to contain it. His thighs and generous ass, too, all proffered like an empowered female comic book character.

Nebra scrambled back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.  _ Oh gods, _ she prayed,  _ please don’t let that moment have lasted as long as it felt! _ She ran her hands down her burning face and pushed her back to the door before sliding to the floor. “I never thought Fuegoleon Vermillion was the type to peep on a woman!” she accused for no other reason than to meter her embarrassment.

His voice came through the door emphatic and sincere. “I apologize! I did not expect you to be out and-” 

“This is unforgivable!” she interrupted. “Unacceptable!”

“If it’s any consolation, your mist obscured things.”

It was a consolation that he would say so, but Fuegoleon was not a good liar. She buried her face in her knees. “Just get under the covers and stay there until I am gone!”

“... I am under the covers.”

Nebra took her time composing herself, and found the dress she had brought into the bathroom with her. After putting it on, she did up her hair and makeup and tried to forget about flashing Fuegoleon. She tried to think instead about making her makeup match her dress, or her empty stomach, or whatever the fuck she was here for. One mild distraction was the fact that she definitely had not grabbed underwear, and she couldn’t remember if that was an intentional choice or not. Despite her best efforts, she was still flustered when she peeked out the bathroom door.  _ Gods! _ She could still see his fat ass under the comforter. He was still laying on his stomach, but flat now, face in the pillow. She crept out. “I am going to dinner. I will ensure they send you something, and we can speak more when I come to check on you.”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Fuegoleon said. His voice was overly professional to make up for the earlier transgressions. “We should be making a better effort to work together. This man is dangerous.”

She fought to swallow her defensiveness. “I know, and I will be careful.”

“Don’t let him take advantage of you.”

“He won’t!” she snapped. “Goodnight, Fuegoleon! I will see you in the morning!”

“The morning? Nebra, wait-!” She shut the door on him before he could lecture her anymore.

Nebra clenched her fists as she marched after the servant leading her to dinner.  _ I have this under control…  _ Her grimoire glowed lightly as she clenched her fist, and mist curled in thin tendrils around her.  _ When I see Ferdinand, I’ll wring his neck! _ She pictured the mist snaking around him and crushing the answers out of him.  _ Show me Nozel’s grimoire, _ she repeated in her mind again and again.

Ferdinand was waiting at the door of the dining room. He looked up from a red book, and his eyes widened at the sight of her.

_ Show me Nozel’s grimoire, _ she insisted in her head, raising her chin as she marched closer. She was about to open her mouth and ask when… 

Ferdinand smiled. It was warm, and knowing, and just a touch lustful.

_ Show me…  _

“You look beautiful,” Ferdinand professed. “An entrance fit for a queen.”

The tension in her hands and shoulders unwound as quickly as her cheeks colored, and her mist faded. The change was so dramatic that Nebra thought her stumble might be noticeable. She turned away, like he was too intense to look at directly; a smile tugged at her lips.

Ferdinand stepped forward to meet her, bringing them intimately close. “May I, Dearest?” he breathed, reaching out for her with unrestrained awe. At her nod, he brushed his hands along her cheek, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and ran his fingertips down her neck. As he traced the stitching of her collar, he murmured, “Are you comfortable?”

Nebra shivered. “Y-yes, dearest,” she breathed.

Slipping his finger up her neck again, he gently turned her head so she was looking into his eyes. His other hand traced the decorative gold seam running down her side and stopped to rest at her hip. “You look absolutely perfect.”

Her heart pounded. Their lips were inches apart. She leaned against his chest, hands grasping his shirt, and his grip on her hip tightened. He thankfully, finally, blessedly closed the distance. Their eyes closed. Their lips touched. Nebra felt weak. The hand on her chin disappeared and relocated to the small of her back, holding her steady. It was too little and too much when they parted.

_ Let’s skip dinner _ . She had to bite her lip to keep the words from slipping out. When she realized how close she had been to saying them out loud, she didn’t trust herself to speak; she just looked into his eyes and felt his heart beat against her chest.

He chuckled, cheeks dusted pink. Straightening his back made them both stand at full height, he was so thoroughly supporting her and they were so close. There was conflict on his face, but he decided, “Well, a lady shouldn’t be kept hungry, and it is very late.” He took her hands. 

She cleared her throat. “And yet you keep me waiting. Why don’t you show some courtesy and pull out my seat for me?” For the first time, she took in the dining room. It was not like a banquet hall in the castle. On the contrary, it was small and intimate. Candles burned at the center of a small table set for two. Food was being set out; Nebra’s mouth now watered at the scents of roast pork, a delicate blend of seasonings, and fresh bread. It had been a very long day and a meal should have been on her mind sooner.

Ferdinand led her to the table and pulled out her seat for her. She settled down and waited for him only to sit before she started eating. Even as ravenous as she was, she could not abandon her royal etiquette; she ate slowly and neatly. When she saw him watching her with clear appreciation of her grace, she was glad for the fact. “Has everything been to your liking? Excluding our interloper, of course.”

She dabbed at her lips with her napkin. “I would prefer a lighter color scheme.” Her gaze flitted to the words patterned along her sleeve, and she felt warm affection pool in her chest. “You should make an effort to match my tastes, not make me match yours.”

He smiled. “Of course. I will have something more to your liking in our room tomorrow morning…” Ferdinand sipped his wine before venturing. “I thought a change in theme might be liberating, but what is most liberating are the things you choose for yourself.”

“Liberating?” she asked, raising a brow.

“From your previous position. Forgive me for being presumptuous, but it seemed to me that you were constrained at your brother’s side. As his right hand, when you deserve a central role.”

Nebra frowned. She had always thought of Nozel as protecting her. Was he holding her back, instead? She put on a smirk as her mind lingered on Nozel, and the anger, so easily sleeping in her chest, awoke. “Did you glean that from his grimoire?”

It was as if the knowledge was pulled straight from her mind to form the glint in his eyes. “No. I intuited it while watching you fight. I only confirmed it by looking through his grimoire. It is a careful effort he makes to remain the strongest of the House Silva.” He sliced the tender pork saute on his dish into juicy little pieces. “But I won’t tell you more about that than you want to know.”

Her smirk fell, and so did most of her anger.  _ Nozel? Having to  _ try  _ to remain the strongest of them? That can’t be right. _ Then again, she and Ferdinand had defeated Fuegoleon. And it had been easy. Nozel and his rival were always evenly matched. Her heartbeat quickened. It didn’t matter that Fuegoleon hadn’t been prepared for a fight like that. Magic knights are supposed to be ready for everything. They were stronger than the Vermillion. Nebra and Ferdinand.  _ Together. _ She took a celebratory swig of her wine. “I might ask you more about it later. Until then, I’ve decided there’s no need to change the color of my wardrobe. I look good in anything, after all. And you look good as you are… but I’m sure you would look good in anything, too.”

He smiled. “Thank you, dearest, but saying you look good in anything is an understatement. You look much better than good.”

Her cheeks warmed. “Yes, and I’m sure you don’t need anything to look good. I was being humble for both of us.” She hastily looked down to her plate as her blush spread. Clearing her throat, she looked up through her lashes. “Anyway…”

The handsome man across the table was enthralled. His smile had turned playful enough to tell her that he wouldn’t help her out of this one. “Anyway,” he agreed, urging her to continue.

Few people really pushed their limits enough to make Nebra squirm; few were allowed to. But she wouldn’t take such teasing laying down!  _ Not yet, anyway.  _ She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’m done with my dinner. Unlike you, a plate is no good naked.” She slid her plate aside and rose her chin to look down her nose at him, bent finger to her smirking lips. “I would like dessert.” A servant plucked up her plate and deposited a literal dessert in front of her: Eton Mess.

Ferdinand’s face was dusted pink. He hadn’t finished his meal, but he motioned for the servant to take his plate and get him dessert as well.  _ No need to keep a lady waiting, _ he surely thought, much to Nebra’s delight. He leaned closer to her, eyes narrowed to lasciviousness. “Please don’t take any offense, but it sounds to me like Fuegoleon Vermillion may have neglected your… appetite considerably. I won’t do you such an injustice.”

She scooped a berry into her mouth and tried to project some semblance of composure. It took her a moment to remember her narrative- that she and Fuegoleon had been ‘together’- and that the assumption that the Vermillion would have anything to do with this wasn’t so far-fetched. “Well, it wasn’t even worth telling him what was going on,” she managed. “You’re much more perceptive… He is just so dense.”

“Am I?”

Nebra jumped straight in her seat like she had been shocked. Ferdinand leaned back, his gaze going from flirty to transparently pissed as he looked up.

Fuegoleon leaned both hands on the table. He had a purple night robe tied around him- too small, but probably the best he could find in Nebra’s room to cover up. She could see his bandaged chest, and his powerful legs. His boxers were covered by the robe, but just barely. As beat up as he was, he stood confident and strong. 

_ Why didn’t I give him more medication? _ Nebra thought, whimpering almost inaudibly at the sight of him.

“I thought I was pretty perceptive, keeping track of you through all this. Mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ferdinand said before he had finished speaking. “Get out.” The servants started to move in, to enact their master’s will.

“Nebra?” he asked. “Are you really going to let this man  _ steal _ your heart?”

Why was he emphasizing ‘steal’? Why was he putting her on the spot? Anger pitched inside her.  _ Oh. _ She ran her hand down her face.  _ I lost focus again! _ “I told you! I’m just giving him a chance to give me what I want!”

“Give  _ me _ a chance,” Fuegoleon insisted. “We’ll compete for your hand. That is what real suitors do.”

Nebra put a hand on her chest. Her heart was pounding, and her breath took an effort to slow.  _ Maybe I was a little over-excited… _

“You had your chance,” Ferdinand said evenly, glaring at him. “She is here with me.”

“No, dearest,” Nebra murmured, looking away. She put her hand in front of her mouth. “He’s right… I was a little hasty. Now he knows the stakes. As a royal, I cannot only follow my heart. I have to do all I can to make the best decision for the Clover Kingdom.” She reached for her wine glass.  _ This is going to be a long night. _

Fuegoleon snatched it and tipped it completely back. “One of us needs to keep a clear head.”

She stared at him in utter offense. Ferdinand was not impressed.

“May I have a seat?” the Vermillion asked. Ferdinand hesitated perhaps a bit too long to answer, because Fuegoleon scooped up Nebra and dropped into her seat before depositing her in his lap.

Nebra bristled, face coloring.  _ How is he still so strong!? _

“That is hardly appropriate,” Ferdinand said, standing.

“If there were another chair, I would have taken it,” he retorted. “How did you two meet? Nebra and I, of course, met at a royal banquet. I’ve never seen you at any event in the noble realm.”

Ferdinand’s impatient gaze shifted to Nebra, as if to ask  _ are you really going to tolerate this? _ But she couldn’t work up an answer for him, or any indication that she disliked the situation, so he answered, “We started writing to one another about six years ago.”

“Why?”

Nebra curled her fingers into the fabric of her dress in her lap. Fuegoleon was leaning back in the seat so she didn’t have to touch him any more than was necessary to sit on his lap, but she was still overwhelmed. “I… I thought he was you.” The words escaped her lips without her permission. 

“Oh? And how long did that go on?” Fuegoleon asked, leaning over her protectively.

“Not long!” she hissed.

“We were playing a sort of game,” Ferdinand said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“And why did you start things off like that? Is a royal not someone to be taken seriously?” Fuegoleon pressed.

Ferdinand, again, looked to Nebra. She was a little curious, too and met his gaze. He sighed. “I take you very seriously, Nebra, and I would hope that my actions show as much as I tell. My parents instilled in me the need to improve myself and my standing, and I watched the grimoire acceptance ceremony every year since receiving my grimoire to find a suitable partner to court. I was perhaps disarmingly forward, because I wanted to tell you everything that would be acceptable before what I saw as inevitable rejection. But sometimes these matters are not just political, but emotional. We were so easily compatible, it became a matter of the heart.”

Nebra’s heart pounded. It felt wrong for Fuegoleon to know something so private.

“And it had nothing to do with the fact that Nebra was young and lonely at the time?”

“I am only a few years older than she is,” Ferdinand said, offended by the implication.

“I wasn’t that lonely, and I was plenty old enough,” Nebra hissed, just as offended.

Mercifully, Fuegoleon didn’t push how embarrassingly lonely she had been. “When did you first meet in person?”

Ferdinand tapped impatiently at the table. “We stopped writing for a few years because Nozel discouraged her, but-”

“Oh, so Nozel knows about this?” Fuegoleon asked incredulously.

“He saw me writing a letter, and disapproved, but not because of Ferdinand. He didn’t bother to ask who I was writing or learn anymore because of my spell on the castle. After I released the spell, I was busy preparing for joining the Silver Eagles,” Nebra explained.

“So you  _ only  _ wrote to each other during your months of isolation?” Fuegoleon asked.

“No! We started writing again,” Nebra snapped. He was starting to frustrate her. “That’s how we arranged this.”

“So this is the first time you’ve met in person, then,” he said with confidence that made Nebra’s blood boil.

“That’s enough. You don’t understand our relationship,” Ferdinand said. “There is such a thing as nuance.”

Fuegoleon thundered on like a freight train. The only mercy was that while he was distracted, the servants refilled her glass, and she reached it before he did. It would probably be best not to snap at him and break character, so he led the conversation and she drank. “Have you met his family, Nebra? What are they like?”

“Dead,” Ferdinand answered for her. “I am head of the household and the last of my line.”

“You want an heir, then,” Fuegoleon guessed.

Nebra’s face paled at the idea. Why did he have to ask something like that? When Ferdinand spoke about their magics being complementary, that wasn’t what she had pictured at all.

Ferdinand lowered himself into his seat stiffly. His gaze once again flashed to Nebra before he answered. “Yes, but there is a time and place for that. That is the expectation of most marriages in the noble realm.”

“And what can you offer Nebra when you are asking so much? What can you offer that you don’t owe her already, that is?” Fuegoleon pressed, bite in his words. His muscular arm landed on the edge of the table, his voice was just beside her ear, and his pecs brushed her back as he leaned forward. “It goes without saying what benefits come with the name Vermillion.”

_ Gods, are both his chest and his butt bigger than mine? _ Nebra thought, feeling hot. How did he expect her to keep a clear head in this situation, drinking or not? She sucked down her wine.

“Together, we have potential,” Ferdinand defended. “With my abilities and hers, I believe that we could be incredibly powerful.”

Fuegoleon paused, perhaps considering this more seriously now. After all, he had experienced her suitor’s magic first hand. “And what are your abilities?”

“Courier magic. To put it simply, I can ensure anything is delivered to its intended recipient. It is much subtler and less combat-focused than your magic, but I’m certain you can imagine the utility of it.” He took a bite of his Eton Mess. “And coupled with Nebra’s mist and illusions, I think it could be extremely effective in a variety of ways, but that is between us.”

A hand closed around hers on her glass, and Fuegoleon lifted the glass to his mouth with her arm, draining it again. “No more of that,” he commanded the servant with such confidence that they blanched and scuttled off pretending they had some other dining task to attend to. That led to an uncomfortable moment of silence. Ferdinand was again offended and Nebra flustered. “Listen, Ferdinand. Even if you have a useful magic ability, there are proper ways to show interest in someone. If Nebra felt that she had to keep this a secret from everyone for years, that is a red flag and I am obligated to protect her.”

“Perhaps,” he ventured, “And perhaps those around her did not earn her trust. I think you know well enough that the environment Nozel created for his siblings was less than ideal. You had to notice, competing with him all those years.”

“... You don’t know Nozel,” Fuegoleon growled.

He leered into Fuegoleon’s eyes. “I know more than you think. I know there were times when you questioned his treatment of them. When it gave you anxiety, and your rivalry an unpleasant edge. You think highly of him, no doubt, but maybe you should reconsider from whom Nebra needs protection most.”

She felt Fuegoleon’s breath hot against her shoulder. She didn’t know if he was angry or anxious or shocked. Her fingers twisted the fabric of her dress tighter. The excitement of the evening had dissolved all at once, leaving her feeling vaguely sick. “Ferdinand, that’s enough.”

“I’m sorry, dearest.” Ferdinand’s hard, cold expression softened as it left Fuegoleon and found her eyes. “I shouldn’t have let this ruin our evening. Maybe it’s time we turn in. It’s been a very long night.”

She nodded and nudged Fuegoleon. They were a bit too close to the table for her to comfortably rise. He belatedly pushed the chair back, and she stood. When she was out of the way, he rose as well, but he was much less steady than he had been earlier. Nebra was a little light-headed, herself, but she hadn’t mixed alcohol and tranquilizers, and she had drank less.

Fuegoleon looked distracted. Maybe the mere act of moving his body at a stand was a chore. Maybe what Ferdinand said had left him shaken. “You’ll come back with me, won’t you, Nebra? We need to talk.” She was caught off-guard by how cheerless his voice was.

Sighing, Nebra glanced at Ferdinand. He was composed and not interjecting. Confident. But Nebra was starting to feel very tired and put off. Now that she was no longer on an emotional rush of one kind or another, she was feeling the whiplash from being thrown from elation to fury to anxiety. That was without mentioning the physical toll hiking through the woods had on her. She turned away from Ferdinand. “It looks like you couldn’t get back on your own if you wanted,” she admonished the Vermillion. “I’m sorry, dearest. There is always tomorrow.”

“... Good night, Nebra.”

Fuego was transparently relieved as she carefully inserted herself under his arm and helped him away from the table. She didn’t look back, almost certain that Ferdinand would convince her, somehow, to change her mind.

  
  


By the time they reached their room, Nebra was ready to collapse in bed and pass out. But Fuegoleon beat her there, falling onto it with a heavy grunt. He pulled himself completely onto it and rolled to his back, eyes swimming. Nebra glanced around, looking for somewhere to go. There was a fainting couch under the window, but that would hardly be comfortable enough to sleep on. “Fuegoleon, that is my bed. You can’t-”

“Should I be worrying about Nozel?” Fuegoleon asked, gaze distant. The question sounded like it had been forced out of him.

“What?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know he can be cold, but… should I have said something? Should I have done something?”

Nebra stared at him. “No… He’s never hurt us. His feelings are always quite clear.” She crossed her arms, feeling a chill. Ferdinand’s words were sticking stubbornly in her head. “At least, I thought so.”

“What are his feelings?” Fuegoleon asked, eyes still shut.

Sighing, she sat down on the bed, back to him. “He… has high expectations for us. His approval is awarded based on merit.” He didn’t respond, and alcohol loosened her lips. She went on. “He would never let any of us surpass him, of course, but we need to be skilled enough to carry the name Silva. What good would we be if we weren’t?” She spared a glance in his direction over her shoulder. Her stomach sunk when he looked horrified.  _ What about that set him off? _

“I need to talk to him when we get out of this,” he said, running his hands down his face. He pushed himself slowly up. “Nebra, listen. He loves you.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her backwards, so her head landed in his lap. Looking down into her eyes seriously, he said. “He’s your older brother and he loves you and he’s terrified for you every time you go on a mission.”

She looked away sheepishly. “He’s scared I’ll embarrass him.”

Fuegoleon threw his head back, exasperated. “I’m going to kick his ass. Come here.” He clumsily dragged Nebra more securely across the bed and into his grip. He was still so strong and she had no desire or energy to resist him. Instead, she twisted to face him as he wrapped his arms around her. He squeezed her in a tight hug. “This is from Nozel. Make sure you get one from him in person when you get home.”

Nebra hesitantly let her arms drape around him as she accepted the hug. Picturing Nozel and hugging Fuegoleon was asking for two completely incongruous sets of emotions, and they just canceled each other out. She didn’t know what to feel or how to react about it, so she didn’t. She sat there awkwardly until Fuego loosened his grip on her, and looked down at her seriously.

“Listen, Nebra. If you think about Ferdinand like a real suitor, that means you shouldn’t do anything with him that you wouldn’t do with me.”

And any thought of Nozel went out the window. She stared at Fuegoleon, her tired mind reeling.

“I know it’s awkward for you to imagine. That’s the type of incredulousness with which you need to face Ferdinand.” He sighed tiredly. “Do you understand?”

_ He doesn’t even know. _ “... Okay.” Nebra wasn’t sure if she was agreeing to his actual words or the spirit behind them, but that could be decided when she was less exhausted. 

His expression softened to relief and affection. “Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Goodnight.” He laid back in bed and was so thoroughly out he might as well have dropped dead.

Her blush came late, but it came in full force.  _ He’s faded. Don’t think too much about it, _ she begged her mind, checking his pulse for good measure. She gave him one half-hearted push in hopes of getting him off her bed, but there was no chance. Too tired to do more, she crawled under the covers and hoped sleep would take her quickly. It didn’t. She wasn’t used to being confined to half of her bed, and her mind was a frustrating combination of restless and sluggish. 

Fuegoleon slept unsettlingly quietly and laid still as a slab; she had the constant urge to check that he was still breathing. And then she would think about how she was sitting here watching her crush sleep like a creep, and she would roll over again, flustered. But even if her mind fought against sleep, her body grew ever wearier. Eventually it reached a tipping point and dragged her under.


	5. Play Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nebra learns more about her adversary while Fuegoleon looks for grimoires.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty chill. There's not too much to say. Lots of things that will come around later.

Nebra slept well into the late morning, until something changed and nearly woke her. She let out a soft sigh, pressed her face deeper into her pillow, and hugged it tightly. She had never felt so cozy in her life. “Gods…” Indulging, she curled her legs around that warm, cuddly body pillow. It got hot fast, tangled up like that, and that was what made Nebra’s half asleep mind start thinking.  _ What woke me up again? _ A pounding heartbeat doubletimed her lazily deliberating mind.  _ Oh, that must have been it…  _ “Quiet,” she commanded tiredly, and squeezed her pillow with the confidence of hitting the snooze button on an alarm- a firm, hard squeeze.

He grunted. Nebra’s eyes shot open. Under her face were bandages, and now that her senses had committed to the living world, she could smell the blood and antiseptic, and feel the coarse texture of it. They were the only thing that separated her cheek from Fuegoleon’s chest; she was lying on top of him, her arms wrapped around and under him so that she was enveloped in the tight nightgown he was now sharing with her. Her naked legs were wrapped around one of his thick thighs, and the skirt of her dress hiked up- luckily still between their skin at the front, but as she shot upright, the back flipped down to cover her formerly bare ass. She scrambled to untangle her legs from his, ignoring the rub as they came apart.

By then, though, Fuego’s gaze was averted; his crimson face was turned toward the wall and his eyes closed. It looked like he might have been trying to stay asleep, but he was too tense and too embarrassed. He animated as soon she did, stiffly struggling free, rolling his back to her, and pulling the covers, which Nebra had cast aside at some point in the night, over himself like he had something to hide.

Nebra supposed he was in his underwear, but surely her shame was greater. Her face burned and her heart pounded. Her mind took panicked stock of her body, ensuring nothing was uncovered that shouldn’t be. Should she leave? Where would she go? She sat frozen, her dress pooled around her on the corner of the bed to which she had retreated. She was crouched there like a frightened animal. He cleared his throat, and she bristled like one, too. 

“Sorry about… that,” he said. 

“Huh?” She could hardly hear him. Not that he was speaking quietly; the blood was just rushing in her ears.

The back of his neck was red, and the room was warm. “Reflexive, given the situation… But that’s no excuse. I apologize. I didn’t mean any offense.”

_ Oh. _ “You didn’t burn me, but you should really get that ability of yours under control,” she chattered, using the criticism to ease her nerves. “I cannot believe  _ Fuegoleon Vermillion’ _ s mana still lashes out just from waking up with someone he doesn’t expect!”

He froze.

Nebra continued. “This is my bed, you know! You were trying to cook me alive in my own bed!”

The tension in his shoulders lessened. “I’m sorry.”

Perhaps he hadn’t seen as much as Nebra thought he had. She had done a good job distracting him from the situation, she decided. “Did I hurt you?”

“No! No. Absolutely not,” he said, something off about his tone.

“I suppose I should check and redress things…” She mused, brushing a hand through her bedhead. Fuegoleon could be as proud as Nozel. If she had agitated one of his wounds, he was probably hiding it.

“No, I’m fine,” he insisted, tensing up again. “You can get dressed. I’ll wait.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re pitiful… Get yourself together while I wash up, and then I am looking you over.” Nebra slipped out of bed and gathered a more modest outfit-  _ What was I thinking last night? _ Ensuring that she had underwear today, she hurried into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.

Her makeup still looked pristine. She had experimented with some that was waterproof and smudge resistant, anticipating some strenuous activity. Like a fight. Certainly a fight. Running her hands down her face, Nebra started the process of washing off all the feelings of the night before.  _ The sun is out. I am pure again. _ When she stepped out, she felt supremely comfortable in the clothes Ferdinand had given her. 

Well-rested and mind clear, Nebra was surprised to find Fuegoleon still looking a bit sheepish. “We should make a plan for today,” he said, eyes on the bandage he was carefully unwrapping. His largest wound had started to bleed through and would need to be redressed.

“Yes, we should. Lay back, I’ll do it.” She sat beside him on the bed, pulled the medical kit out from under it, and gently pushed him onto his back. 

He looked away, askance, and cleared his throat. “Do you still think he’s an appropriate suitor?”

“That’s not important. We should focus on getting your grimoire back, I think. And you can probably find what I’m here for while you look for it.”

“Then it’s a grimoire I’ll recognize. I won’t guess whose…” His eyes were still on the wall, but his gaze was serious now. “How did he get it? Did you give it to him?”

“No,” she snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright. I look for the grimoires. What are you doing?”

“I’m distracting him, of course.” She focused on the wound and ignored his incredulous gaze snapping back to her. “You never told me your opinion of him. As an adversary.”

He sighed. “I think he’s very good at saying what you want to hear and controlling the way others think. There is too much I don’t know about his abilities. It seems like he was able to make the attacks that initially missed me hit; if that is the limit of his combat ability, then he would be very easy to beat on his own, even like this. I don’t want to discount his other spells, though.” She could feel his expectant gaze on her.

“I’ve only seen him do that and deliver letters,” she said. It felt like there was a stone in her throat, opposing her saying anymore.

“Why was his grimoire in that condition?”

“... It’s a requirement of some of the spells he casts,” she answered, swallowing guilt. “I don’t think that information will help us.”

Fuegoleon rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Do you have any thoughts about him personally?” Nebra ventured as casually as she could manage. She dabbed antiseptic on his wound, earning a cringe and hopefully time for him to think of something besides criticism.

He exhaled a puff of hot air. “I think he wants in to a royal bloodline and access to the resources you have. Whatever he feels, you can’t ignore how much he personally benefits from courting you. Everything he’s done could be part of his political aspirations.”

“That doesn’t differ much from a lot of my suitors,” she pointed out.

“You deserve better,” he reiterated.

“Like who?” She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

He had been looking at her seriously, but his gaze flickered away.  _ That was strange. _ “Someone who is not a thief living in the woods is a good start.”

“He’s not-!” she started indignantly, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. She offered him a leer as she got up and answered it.

“Good morning, lady Silva,” a servant greeted. “Would you like to join Lord Penchant for brunch?”

“Yes, I’ll be done redressing Fuegoleon’s wounds soon. Bring Fuegoleon something to eat and report back to Ferdinand in the meantime.” She flicked her hand dismissively and the servant obediently marched off. Returning to the bed, she said, “You can eat and then go looking. For a library, probably.”

“Nebra, I would really feel more comfortable not leaving you with him alone.”

“Well, we have to be practical about this,” she said. “Besides, it’s just brunch. And you can surely sense my mana. The property isn’t so big. If you feel the need to rush in and rescue me, then you can, but you must remember that is the last resort.”

He didn’t look satisfied. “Will you keep your promise from last night?”

“Huh?”

“That you won’t do anything with him that you wouldn’t with me- and maybe not something like last night. I think it’s fair to say neither of us were completely ourselves.”

_ Oh. _ She wondered if he remembered that all clearly. “Yes, I’ll keep that promise. It’s only brunch, after all.” Trying not to sound defensive, she added, “Ferdinand is a gentleman, you know.”

“Yes, I’m sure.” He rolled his eyes. “Just be careful. More careful than last night.”

“You too,” she said, tightening the bandage over his wound and earning an uncomfortable grunt. She stood and strolled out.

Ferdinand greeted her at the dining room door with a kiss to the back of her hand. Nebra was relieved that she didn’t feel as desperately eager as she had last night at the sight of him. Instead of throwing herself into his arms, she just cupped his cheek and pulled him into a real kiss. 

Again, it was chaste, and she was left wanting when he broke contact and gently played with her hair. “Did you sleep well?”

Nebra looked away guiltily. “... It isn’t exactly the same as my bed at home,” she managed. How could she say she was so comfortable when she was tangled up in Fuegoleon? It wasn’t like she had done anything… 

But he seemed to understand what she was feeling; he put an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I’ll be certain things are more to your liking tonight, dearest,” he assured, giving her a gentle squeeze.

Her cheeks warmed. “Thank you, Ferdinand.” Placing her bent finger over her mouth, she murmured, “Now, don’t keep me waiting for brunch. It looks like you’re forming a terrible habit of standing between me and my meals.”

“My apologies.” He let out an amused huff and led her over to the table, his arms still around her until he pulled out her chair. 

A plate with ham, eggs, au gratin potatoes and french toast was set in front of her, along with a bowl of fruit and a cup of juice. She breathed in the delicious, buttery scent before neatly cutting into her food. “This is more like it.”

Sitting across from her, he said, “I thought we could do some things together today. I could give you a proper tour, and we’ll find something that suits your interests. Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“I’ve been fond of Go, Cobra Paw, and Fluff as of late,” she said casually. When he blinked at her in surprise, she smirked. “They’re boardgames, dear F. It seems like there is some culture you’re missing here in the Common Realm.”

“I’ll catch up soon enough,” he assured her, sincere despite the airiness of his tone. “And the games you like will be here as soon as possible.” He motioned for one of the servants to go, likely to acquire them.

“Scrabble or Bananagrams might be more commonplace, if that’s the type of game you like.” She flicked her wrist dismissively. “But my expectations for you are much higher if we play those. I won’t go easy on you.”

He smiled. “You don't have to go easy on me in any context. A royal's victory may seem inevitable, but I promise the fight I put up will be worthwhile."

_ Gods you have a beautiful smile, _ she silently swooned. She took a hasty bite of toast so her expression wouldn't give anything away, but she was thinking, not for the first time, that Ferdinand could see straight through her defenses. "Are you accustomed to fighting, Ferdinand?" He hesitated, and she added, "In the sense that you've struggled. Your family losing its standing must have affected you, and I know how it feels to lose a parent." Her words didn't come out even a little sympathetic; it hadn't occurred to her that they should, but she did feel a little guilty seeing his smile so thoroughly wiped away. 

Now he was quite serious, but not baring any weakness. This was business. "My parents struggled more than I did. I've inherited their strengths and not their weaknesses." After a pause to sip his coffee, he added, "you need not worry. I'll only struggle as much as you enjoy watching me do so. For your entertainment alone.”

Nebra giggled. “Oh, come on, now, Ferdinand. You don’t need to pretend to be invulnerable. You already know me so intimately, after all…” She gently ran her finger around the rim of her glass, following its path with her narrowed eyes.

“I know that you were still mastering control when you were younger, but I didn’t see any of that weakness while watching you fight.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” she pointed out, smirking at him. “What are  _ your _ weaknesses?”

“Hm… I don’t have the mana of a royal and my powers to direct attacks cannot easily affect the blind,” he said. “Though I have been learning braille.”

“Do you have attack spells?”

“My magic is strictly supportive and utilitarian.” His hand gently brushed hers. “I am not a knight like you, but I can be of great use in that role.”

She interlaced her fingers with his, enjoying the softness of his kid gloves. “I want to test our abilities together.” The warm, affectionate tone of her voice surprised even Nebra. “I’ll try not to overshadow you completely.”

“The days of holding yourself back at someone else’s side are over. You may take as much spotlight as you wish. You know how I feel about you, and that’s what matters to me.” He shifted his grip so his thumb could trace shapes on the back of her hand.

Her heart pattered in her chest. “Well… what do you suggest as our first step?”

His eyes drifted easily from her hand to her eyes. “There’s no one right way to start working together. I’d like to look at your grimoire, if you still feel like your control could be improved.”

Nebra blinked at him, anxiety interrupting the warm fuzzy feelings that had been lingering in her chest like the touch of his gloves lingered on her skin. “Show me yours first,” she demanded. “In depth, explain it to me.” Her own grimoire seemed to weigh heavy on her hip now.  _ He’s seen Nozel’s and Fuegoleon’s. Won’t mine be a disappointment? _

“Don’t worry.” His voice came out smoothly. “We don’t have to do anything like that until you’re ready. I’ll show you mine after the tour, and explain how my spells come to me. Or we could play some games first. What would you prefer?”

She relaxed easily, the tension melting away. “Let’s play, Ferdinand.”

After their tour, they started with Cobra Paw. The sun had reached its peak and was on its way down, but there was still plenty of sunlight left. Ferdinand’s reflexes left much to be desired, and though she could tell he had no trouble finding the symbols before her, she easily reached them first once she knew where to look. He won the first few rounds while she evaluated him. After that, she simply tracked his eyes and stole them out from under his hand, much to his growing frustration. Nebra watched him, eyes half-slitted with mirth, as he did his best to keep a cool, calm demeanor after repeated losses.

But then, Nebra noticed that tracking his eyes wasn’t working anymore. He had picked up what she was doing, and kept them in constant motion. It tripped her up for a few rounds, but not enough to close the gap in their scores before she readjusted to finding them herself again. But that wasn’t the end of his comeback. He started to go right for the piece without having to search, as if he knew before the die was rolled what the outcome would be. Nebra narrowed her eyes and snatched his hand. 

Ferdinand looked up at her, brows raised.

“Dearest,” she said, voice sickly sweet. “Are you cheating?”

He smiled at her. “There are no rules against magic, dearest,” he replied, just as sweet.

_ Oh, that’s right. That was a house rule. _ The Silvas could all get very competitive and it was best to avoid injury. Then again, that was not why the rule was made. There were too many games Nebra could win when her brothers couldn’t see, or when what they saw was an illusion. She smirked. “You don’t want to play by those rules, Ferdinand.”

He tapped the piece of the round with his free hand. “Didn’t I say not to hold back?” 

“You asked for it.” Mist clouded the table. Ferdinand rolled. The dice clattered. She could feel the symbol ingrained in their surface, and snatched the matching piece, and then the dice so she could roll for the next round. She reached for the next tile.

“That’s what I wanted to see!” Ferdinand kneed the table, and the pieces flew straight up. He snatched the piece out of the air.

“Bitch!” Nebra laughed as he groped for the dice. She could sense him startle, but he still rolled. She took the opportunity to grab for the tile.

Ferdinand flipped the table with admirable form- and it wasn’t a light table. The tiles scattered across the floor and he dove for them. 

She sprang after him, landing lightly on his back. It knocked him off balance, and he fell face-first to the ground. “Oh, that’s certainly not in the spirit of the game,” she sneered. Knees in his back, she leaned over his shoulder to speak in his ear. “Do you want to win so badly you’ll compromise your integrity?”

He grunted and held up the tile. “Does that bother you? Or is it the fact that I’m winning, now?” he teased. Him rolling onto his back forced her to hop off of him, but she readily pinned him by one shoulder, empowering her grip with mana so he couldn’t so easily throw her again.

“You already had that one, dearest.” Taking his hand in her free hand, she guided his fingers to feel the ingrained symbol. Nebra leaned her face close to his so he could see her smirk through the fog.“It’s a tie.” 

He blinked back at her in surprise. Disbelief was the first expression to flash cutely across his face, and then realization that she could see the pieces just as well as before.

“Let’s leave it at that,” she cooed, pecking him on the lips.

His grip on the tile relaxed, and it dropped onto his chest. “Alright. Give in if you must,” he teased. At her eye roll, he added, “What do you want to do next?”

Something in the back of her mind pointed out some promise she could technically follow, but break in spirit.  _ Is it too early for that? _ Nebra mused. She looked into Ferdinand’s green eyes through her eyelashes. The mist around her swirled gently as she rested her head on his chest. “We could play another game,” she mused, listening to the relaxed thump of his heart.

“Yes?” He gently twirled a lock of her hair. “What do you want to…?” Stopping short, Ferdinand sat up, his arm falling around Nebra’s waist as he did. She shifted to be comfortable in her grip, irritation rising in her stomach. 

Fuegoleon was approaching, his indomitable mana metered and the mist parted by his approach. She dropped the cloud before he could reach them. “What are you doing here?” she snapped.

He was not comfortable- apparently unmedicated, still in her nightgown, and surprised to find the fog abruptly gone and her leering right at him. “Your mana… I thought you were fighting.”

Ferdinand chuckled and whispered in her ear, “Like a confused child who hears his parents.”

Nebra’s cheeks colored, and she swatted his chest playfully. “You’re awful,” she hissed.

Fuegoleon’s eyes narrowed impatiently. “Nebra, remember what we spoke about.”

“I remember,” she said, looking away from him sheepishly. “We also said that you don’t need to rush in and rescue me at the slightest provocation. You’re going to hurt yourself running after me.” He looked bad. He was breathing hard and holding his injured side.

Ferdinand picked them both off the ground with surprising grace, and faced Fuegoleon with an arm around her waist demonstratively. “Please don’t take offense, but I think you might need some more thorough medical care.”

“I’m fine,” Fuegoleon said. “Nebra is doing well on her own. I just need some help getting back to my room. And some clothes would be nice.”

Nebra put her hand over her mouth. “Yes. I asked about that…”

Ferdinand rolled with her lie. “I thought some shame might keep you in place and out of trouble.”

“Your opinion is not one that weighs heavy on my mind, Ferdinand.” It seemed for no other reason than pettiness, he added, “And Nebra’s seen this all before.”

Nebra’s cheeks glowed. Ferdinand’s grip on her tightened, and he glared at Fuegoleon. “We’ll both walk you back, and I’ll bring in my doctor. I think the pain of your wounds is making you vulgar. We can do something about that.”

“You don’t need to,” Nebra insisted. “I’ll keep him in control.”

“We’ll give you some help, dearest,” he insisted gently. “You are well above this kind of work.”

Fuegoleon didn’t have the energy to object.

The walk was awkward and lacking in conversation, save for Ferdinand commanding his servants. The doctor was waiting there when they arrived. Nebra watched warily while she treated Fuegoleon, but she didn’t do much different. She didn’t even give him more painkillers than Nebra had- at least not more pills, but Nebra couldn’t tell what the pills actually were or what their concentration was.

When everything was done, the doctor bowed out. Ferdinand looked to Nebra, ignoring a sleepy looking Fuegoleon. “Do you still want to play another game, dearest?”

Nebra sighed, her gaze lingering on the Vermillion nervously. “I need a break. Why don’t we reconvene at dinner?”

“... Very well. I will see you, then.”

She waited until he was well and gone before sitting on the bed next to Fuegoleon. “Did you find anything?”

Fuegoleon’s eyes were half-lidded. “I found the library, but he has a lot of grimoires.”

His library had not seemed out of place to her, but from the outside, a grimoire looked just like any other book. “That’s not surprising,” she murmured.

“I didn’t find mine or the one you’re looking for yet.” He rubbed his face, like he was trying to keep his mind working. “There were a lot of grimoires.”

The doctor had certainly given him something stronger than Nebra had. “Tomorrow, don’t swallow what the doctor gives you, or this is going to get harder.”

He nodded. “And you don’t sleep with Ferdinand. If you can help it.”

“Of course I can help it- and I won’t!” she said, instantly exasperated.

But his eyes had slipped shut, and he was sleeping peacefully.

Nebra kept an eye on him for the evening, but she was thoroughly convinced that Fuegoleon would be fine without her. All he was doing was sleeping, anyway. Relaxing on the fainting couch, she went over in her head what she had learned about Ferdinand’s magic from their game. It seemed he had some ability to receive an outcome he desired- and without having his grimoire out. She guessed that these things must be small scale, but he might have a more powerful version of such a spell in his grimoire.  _ To receive a particular outcome… _ “That’s such bullshit,” she giggled. The connection to courier magic seemed semantic at best, but the wordplay was so perfectly  _ Ferdinand. _ She should have guessed his powers could twist fate, though. He had implied as much. Was changing the outcomes of attacks so different from changing the roll of a die?

She brushed her hand thoughtfully over her grimoire’s cover. Did he help others control their abilities by finding strange associations and playing word games? By making shots in the dark and receiving the outcome they wanted? Or was there something else to it? Maybe he could just write a letter with the idea for a spell, and the sentiment would hit them right where it was needed. Nebra had planned to think more about how she could get Fuegoleon and Nozel’s grimoires back, but her mind was occupied completely by the idea. What would Ferdinand do for her magic if she let him peruse her grimoire? And how?

It was her own stomach growling that interrupted her thoughts. She rolled off her back and onto her feet to get ready. Her mind had been clearer today, she thought, but she still wanted to look nice. To keep up appearances. And since she knew the water and smear proof makeup had looked good last night, she might as well wear it tonight. It was just convenient. And who knew? If she had to fight, she couldn’t have makeup running into her eyes. Nebra sighed. She was starting to get exasperated with the way her mind kept running in circles, even as she dressed up.

Ferdinand was waiting for her in the dining room as usual. He caught her hand and kissed her on the cheek without making her stop; it seemed he had taken her complaint about him impeding her meals seriously. She couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer to look at my grimoire,” she started, settling down.

He rose a brow. “Don’t feel obligated to show your hand before you’re ready.”

“Don’t be coy. I know how badly you want it,” she said bluntly. Ferdinand smiled in agreement as she continued. “You’ll understand, though, that I’ll never let you see it if you’re planning to pick it apart and compare it to Nozel’s or Fuegoleon’s. And if you share details of my grimoire with anyone, I’ll kill you myself.”

He took a sip of his wine, still smiling gently. His words came out genuine and warm as the glass lingered just below his lips. “I would never betray your trust, dearest N.” His gaze flickered to the red liquid as he explained, “And you needn’t worry about me criticizing or nitpicking. One grimoire is hardly comparable to another when it comes to its real contents. I don’t want this to put you off, so don’t consider this simile too seriously, but grimoires are like a true name, able to express their owner’s nature in a way nothing else can. I know that I will like your grimoire because I know how much I like you.”

Nebra’s cheeks heated up, and she put her hand over her mouth and looked away. “... I see.”

“That is also why I am content enough to wait. I can be professional about these things, and in fact I am used to looking at grimoires in the context of work. If that’s how you want me to view your grimoire, then that is how I will. However, I would rather view it as a form of intimacy.” He took a bite of his confit byaldi.

She nibbled at her own dish. “... I don’t usually rush into things like that.”

“I know.” He watched, waiting for her to continue. Perhaps the irony of the claim in their current situation was not lost on him.

Regardless, she appreciated his patience. “I am interested in it. How it works from a practical standpoint. I’d like to see it in action, but...” She shrugged and swirled her wine.

“.... Well,” he began, “I have one suggestion.” At her acknowledgment, he explained, “You could show me your first spell.”

Nebra looked away, the color draining from her face. Indignity tinged her voice. “How could you suggest that?” That ugly, useless spell had always been a sore spot.

“Please understand, I am trying to be practical. I saw that spell in person, and it is from a point in your life where you told me almost everything. Because it is so old, you don’t have to worry about it revealing any recent secrets.” The way he moved his fork, looking for a particular selection of vegetables, looked a lot like writing. “I’ll admit my memories of it are fond, despite the circumstances. I think it is fitting, thematically, for it to bring us closer together again.”

Anxiety still tugged at her. “What would you even do with a spell like that, Ferdinand? It’s nothing like the ones I use now. When I made it I was feverishly delusional.”

“I know it doesn’t show you at your best. There’s no pressure for it to. That’s part of the reason I want to work on it. It’s from outside of your comfort zone, so it is a good base for expanding your abilities. Together, we could turn it into something you’re proud of.” He smiled at her confidently.

His smile slowly eased her nerves, but she still put her bent finger over her lips and regarded him with a raised brow. “I won’t say no to that… but I still want to look at your grimoire first. Just one or two spells.”

“Of course. You can choose what spell you want to hear about,” he said easily. “A fine dessert, if you don’t care for chocolate cake.”

“Like I would pass up chocolate cake.” She rolled her eyes and gestured for servants to take her plate. They dutifully obliged and placed a rich slice of cake before her. Twirling her fork in delight, she started eating. Pausing between polite bites, she noted, “You know, your doctor gave Fuegoleon enough to leave him drooling on my pillow all night.”

“My, that is a problem.” His gaze drifted away, thoughtful; she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Would you like me to have another room made up for you?”

Nebra pretended to consider it, and looked up at him coyly through her eyelashes. “Let’s see where the evening leads.” She broke her usual etiquette to lick a dab of frosting off her lip.

He watched the motion and gave his collar a small, performative tug. “Sure, dearest N, I will wait and hope we have no more interruptions.”

When they finished dinner, she and Ferdinand retreated to his room. Nebra felt quite confident in her self control; she was gathering intelligence at this point. Her eyes took in the room. She was surprised to find that its theme was gold and not black; it was warm-toned, with built in maple bookshelves between the broad windows. The windows faced west, suggesting he preferred the evenings to the mornings, like she did. A large desk took up the entire wall beside the door, but the room was large enough not to be cramped. Neat stacks of books and papers were settled on the desk with some kind of order, but she wasn’t sure what. Neither Fuegoleon nor Nozel’s grimoires were there, much to her disappointment. “Do you do all your work here?”

Ferdinand set his grimoire down on the desktop, loosened his collar, and shrugged off his jacket. He placed it out of the way. His gloves and dress shirt remained on, though. “No. I like a change in scenery. Sometimes I work in the library or study, and less often, in the garden.” He pulled out the lone seat at his desk for her.

She settled into it. The chair was comfortable, the sturdy wood well cushioned, but clearly it had been shaped through long term use to fit his body. Leaning on one of its arms, she rested her head in her hand and looked up at him. “How do you want to do this?”

He reached carefully over her and opened his grimoire. “It depends what kind of spell you want to see. Feel free to browse.”

Nebra hesitantly flipped through the pages. The fact that some of them were torn, making the edges uneven, made her proceed cautiously. Looking through someone else’s grimoire was strange; she had really only looked closely at her own or those of family members. Intimate was an appropriate word for it, and Ferdinand’s gesture was not lost on her.

That being said, the words were completely illegible. The script was compact, and the spacing tight. Each spell was many blocks of text long, all in that tiny cursive. If they were on a torn page, the edge of the tear was either far from the words, or seemed to carefully avoid taking any off while hugging the final letter of each line. He played with her hair as she squinted at the words. She had drank just a bit too much to tolerate this particular nonsense. “Ferdinand,” she started. He opened one of the desk drawers, revealing, among pens and ink and stationary, a small, handless magnifying glass. She plucked it out. Sliding it along the page revealed the words, but the process was slow and made skimming difficult. She found herself lulled by the smooth repetition of the letters and the feeling of his fingers combing through her loose hair.

“How about this one,” she said, selecting the spell currently under her fingertips.

He leaned closer and must have recognized the shape of it more than the words.  _ I refuse to believe that even he could read that cramped writing. _ “A spell for the delivery of drugs to a specific destination within the body. It can work in a couple of ways… Easing the absorbance of a substance, whatever it is, or directing that substance to a specific part of one’s anatomy. The former use is very simple. The latter is not, but it’s more flexible. A little crude, but flexible.”

“It sounds like something useful for poisoning someone,” Nebra noted, tilting her head against the seat back to look up at him with a raised brow.

He chuckled and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “It depends what is injected into the body, and- to a lesser extent- how much. I used it on Fuegoleon tonight, actually, and I’m sure that, in other circumstances, he would thank me for so quickly relieving his pain.”

She hid her surprise. “Is that how you usually use it?”

“Hm… I think it’s probably an even break between medicinal and contaminant uses.”

“When did you think of this? Which did you start with?”

His gaze drifted away from her, and his expression sobered. “Four years ago, my father began to suffer from terrible migraines. I think they may have been linked to his magic. He was a mind mage, and often used his abilities on himself to work through things he aught not work through. Sleeplessness, injury, illness… Giving himself the ability to ignore a great deal without losing his mental capacity. Mind over matter, as they say. That had plenty of physical consequences, but you can predict the cyclic nature of a problem like that.”

“Then it started medicinal,” she mused, taking his hand.

Ferdinand shrugged and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “My first usage of it was clumsy. ‘Medicinal’ is generous, but I suppose he was incapacitated long enough to get the rest he needed,” he said wryly.

She let out an amused huff. “Your intentions were good.”

“They generally are.” He laced his fingers with hers. “But you know I have my weaknesses. Is there anything else you would like to know? Or can we look at your grimoire, now?”

Nebra rolled her eyes. “And here I was thinking you wanted to look at it for my benefit.”

Bending over her shoulder, he kissed her cheek and murmured, “Can’t I be selfish  _ and  _ generous?”

Her cheeks warmed at his touch. “I suppose…” Still holding his hand, she hopped up and motioned for him to take the seat. “Let’s see what you can do.” She perched on the arm of the chair as he sat down, and hesitantly set her grimoire on the table. Recalling the spell saw it flip open, but the action seemed sluggish. The page still behaved as if it wanted to stick to the previous and not reveal itself. However, they did come apart.

Ferdinand brushed his gloved fingers gently over the shaky, discordant lettering. “... Oh, wow.”

“Worse than you were expecting?” she guessed.  _ If I say it first, it won’t hurt so much. _

“I’ve seen spells written in the throws of illness before,” he assured her. “I’m impressed by how dense this is.”

“Dense?” 

“We generally create spells by describing how they work. Some mages use diagrams, some use prose or poetry, some write them like recipes, and so on. This is more like a cloud of associations. It is not a common form because it’s so open-ended.” His voice was eager, words crisp and intentionally slow to hide the excitement that leaked through regardless, and his eyes didn’t leave the page. “Most people, despite their best efforts, accomplish very little of substance when they write spells like this. However, this spell can do quite a bit.” He looked up at her with a gleam in his eye. “It’s even better than I was expecting. Do you use this form often? I imagine your magic is very well suited for it.”

She straightened, sincerely surprised by the praise. “No, I… well, I’ve always followed my older brother’s form…” Nozel recorded his spells in highly organized entries. The details were so clear and in-depth. She had always admired how reading them made her feel like, had she the skill and affinity, she could somehow cast them herself. As much as she tried to follow suit, her spells always felt sloppy. The ones she formed unexpectedly felt jarringly ugly on the pages, whether they worked well or not.

Ferdinand hummed and nodded, expression thoughtful. He had promised not to compare the two, and he kept that promise. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he put his arm around her waist and laid his free hand on her thigh. His fingers traced letters on the fabric of her dress as he read the words over again and again. “... It sustains itself on ambient mana, and it would even absorb some different types of spells. Did you have a chance to see it do that?”

“To see it…?” Nebra’s mind buzzed at his touch.

“To see it absorb a spell?”

“Oh. No. I don’t think so. Someone mentioned that binding spells didn’t help, but I can’t remember them testing that.”

Tugging his gaze away from her grimoire, he inquired. “I’m not boring you, am I?”

“Oh no, not yet, but I suppose this could take a little while to work out, couldn’t it?” Her heart thrummed.

“It could,” he agreed. “But we need not complete it tonight.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I should get more comfortable.” He started to speak, but before he could offer something more practical, she slid off the armrest and into his lap.

He tensed in surprise, but quickly recovered. Looping an arm around her waist, he rested his chin on her shoulder and spoke in her ear. “Comfortable now, dearest?”

Nebra could swear her temperature raised a few degrees. She crossed her ankles.  _ Tonight was the night I shouldn’t have worn underwear, damnit! _ “Very,” she managed, voice breathy.

Ferdinand’s fingers got to work again, now ghost writing on her ribs. She wriggled, ticklish, and he moved them considerately to her hip. His attention returned to her grimoire. “There are a lot of directions I can take this,” he spoke into her neck. “Where do you want it to go?”

A shiver climbed her spine. “You can do whatever you like… with the spell, I mean.” 

She could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed her neck. “You spoil me, dearest.”

“I’m sure you’ll do the same,” she whispered, glowing. 

He chuckled. “Don’t worry. My focus is very good. I won’t take your permission in work to mean something else in play.” He kissed her neck again. “But if switching from work to play is what you want, that means you’ll have to say so.”

Nebra was seeing stars. “Have your fun with my grimoire. Then I’ll have my fun with you.”

He chuckled and gave her a gentle squeeze. “You know the way to my heart like no other.”

Ferdinand continued to read and reread the spell. Nebra would have been sick of looking at it by now if she had kept doing so. Instead, she fidgeted with his magnifying glass and did her best to mentally prepare. She was about to say something when he pulled out a piece of paper and pen from his drawer and started to write.  _ He’s just starting? Am I being impatient? _ She pursed her lips thoughtfully. She was still enjoying the gentle touch of his fingers, and his face so close to hers. She could wait. To pass the time, she ran the magnifying glass over the next spell in Ferdinand’s spellbook, which was set just aside and still open. He didn’t seem to mind, so she decided to read. Maybe it would be useful to know. After all, she was still trying to find out more about his magic.

The rhythm of the words, growing and fading back to illegibility under the glass was soothing like the rise and fall of waves on a beach. The movement of Ferdinand’s fingers and his breathing seemed to synchronize with it, now slow and steady. She found herself listening to that ambient noise intently, and the words blurred as she watched them through half-lidded eyes. Eventually, they slid closed altogether, and she just enjoyed the lightless sensations of running the glass over the page and feeling Ferdinand’s body around hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up liking my antagonist too much...


	6. A Little Morale Boost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nebra wakes to regret some of her earlier decision; she and Fuegoleon then proceed to make more regrettable (or not) decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I love this chapter. Everyone embarrasses themselves. But I feel like I say that every chapter.

Nebra yawned and sprawled into a comfortable stretch, arching up against the thick, fluffy comforter. She sat up and rubbed her eyes before looking around. The previous night took its time coming together. She was still in her evening dress from last night, and still in her underwear. Pouting, she examined the room. 

Ferdinand was still at his desk, writing away. He perked up when she cleared her throat. “Good morning, dearest,” he cooed, looking back at her. “You drifted off.”

Annoyance tinged her voice. “You let me.”

He looked a bit taken aback. “Should I have bothered you?”

_ There is no good answer to that that won’t sound… There is no good answer to that. _ She ran her hands down her face and climbed out of bed. “I am taking a shower. Get me something to wear for the day. I need to check on Fuegoleon before breakfast.”

He rose from his seat. “Nebra, wait. I’ve been working on this spell, and I have many things you can do with it. There’s only one problem.”

She stopped at the bathroom door, hand on the knob. She had forgotten he was working on that. Looking at her grimoire. At her worst spell, of all things. Anxiety quickened her heartbeat.  _ What was I thinking? _ Taking a deep breath, she asked “What?”

She couldn’t look at him, but he sounded sheepish. “I have an inkling, but in the interest of avoiding confusion, I have to ask. How did you stop the spell the first time you cast it?”

The vision of the door in front of her nearly disappeared; panic rose in her chest so quickly, she saw stars. The humiliation of that moment, of seeing her own pathetic reflection in her pathetic sister’s tear-filled eyes was a wound, and she mentally curled around it and bared her teeth to protect it. She dropped the doorknob and turned on him, face scrunching furiously. “That was the problem the first time I cast it. Did you really think you could fix it without fixing  _ that _ ?” 

His brows rose, but he stood his ground. His reply was smooth and confident “I have a theory, dearest. I only need confirmation.”

Outrage built up inside her like an autoclave. Had he gleaned her weakest moment? Nebra scrutinized his expression, his posture, his body language. Invisible vapors clouded his skin, searching for the shiver of tension in his muscles. Was he looking down on her? Where was his contempt? His disgust? She clenched her fist to keep from shuddering, but the room was shaking. She couldn’t tell if it was just her vision, or if her mana physically rattled the books on the shelves and the lamps on the tables. “Give me my grimoire,” she commanded.

Ferdinand swiftly grabbed it and held it out to her, eyes downcast submissively. He had recognized that this was no game.

She snatched it from his grasp and marched out into the hall. Her head was spinning. She wanted to go somewhere and let her mana run wild. The swirling mist would calm her. Pinching her eyes shut, Nebra realised ruefully that she had nowhere in particular to go. This was not her home, and Fuegoleon was in her room.  _ Fine. I’ll leave. _ In minutes, she was pushing through the front door, out into the garden. She was halfway across the front yard when she remembered Nozel and Fuegoleon’s grimoires, and the fact that Fuegoleon was possibly too heavily medicated to get out of this situation himself. 

Groaning, she dropped into the grass between two flower beds and let her mana billow out into a swirling cloud around her. She put her hands over her eyes and threw her mind into the airy water, hoping it would carry her emotions away. It worked as she knew it would. She laid there and felt the cool dew on her back, chest heaving, until her mind and the mist stilled. Nebra wished she had never felt like this before, but she had. Each time she looked at her younger sister, it was a piece of this, and she tried her hardest to excise each piece of weakness that she and the youngest Silva had shared with a scalpel-sharp tongue. If Noelle was nothing but weakness, then Nebra would cut her down until there was nothing left.

But she couldn’t do that to Ferdinand. He wasn’t a painful phantom of a dead loved one, and he wasn’t weak enough to let Nebra destroy him. She respected him. She liked him. Her shame over this memory was met by a softer embarrassment that she had run away from him. Maybe if he was nothing to her, she could break him and be rid of the fear, but she sincerely didn’t want to, even though it would be justified.

And then there was the cold fear trying to eat its way through her from the inside out. That she had put information as powerful, or worse, in Ferdinand’s hands about Fuegoleon or Nozel. She couldn’t entertain the thought, or the vapor would thicken like rain, and she would feel like she was drowning on land. She forced her face to smooth, and let the mist flow and swirl naturally. Occasionally it bunched, trying to take shape around a stray thought, but Nebra could brush these knots from the air and from her mind. The mist soon grew smooth. Her breaths were even. 

By the time someone came for her, she could feel the sun rising and trying to dissolve the edges of her cloud. It must have been nearly directly above to shine through the trees, reflect through the fog, and surround her in white light. Her eyes drifted through to the shape stepping through it. “Who let you out of the house?”

Fuegoleon sat down in the damp grass beside her, expression serious. He had finally been given a fitting robe, and she silently mourned the covering of his thick thighs and broad chest. “Are you alright?”

She looked away from him, but she could still feel his shape so clearly it didn’t matter. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

His brow furrowed and he tore nervously at the grass. The motion was languid and unfocused. Medicated, but not so much that he couldn’t function. “I left you alone with that man. I’m sorry.”

Nebra scoffed. “He’s a gentleman, Fuegoleon. We didn’t do anything.” Bitterly, she added, “you don’t have to tell Nozel that I was ravished on your watch.”

“I… that’s not…” He ran a hand down his face. “Listen. I’m sorry that I made this sound like… something I would only do for Nozel’s sake. Like you were a charge. If I didn’t know what I do about Nozel, then I would have come looking for you regardless. That is our duty as magic knights.”

“Oh, thank you. I do love knowing what kind of damsel I am to you,” she retorted, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He stared at the tousled hair that hid her face from him, squinting through the fog. “Not a damsel. A fellow knight. We don’t leave our comrades behind.”

“Mhm,” she murmured, rolling so her back was to him.

“Nebra, listen to me. I respect you as a warrior. I know you are capable of defending yourself, but we all have strengths and weaknesses. That is why we form teams. I know things are complicated, but you’ve made it clear that Ferdinand is someone we cannot entirely trust. So we need to work together, here. Do you understand?”

“Mhm,” she repeated.

“You can trust me.” She sensed his hand move slowly through the air before it landed on her shoulder. It was just short of uncomfortably hot, but given how hot he could get, she assumed he was fine.

She sighed. “I get it. Why are you beating this dead horse?”

Fuegoleon hesitated. “...Did something happen to upset you this morning?

So he had felt her mana flare. That wasn’t surprising.  _ Why would he ask if he already knows? _ “Clearly. Were you too high to come running?” The way he tensed confirmed as much. Not like it was his fault, but he would surely think it was. “It doesn’t matter. I’m over it.”

“What happened?”

“Ferdinand was prying,” she said pointedly. 

“Is… Is that actually what happened, or are you trying to send me a message?”

Nebra looked up at him over her shoulder, eyes narrowed in exasperation. “Can’t it be both?”

He blinked down at her. “... Alright. You weren’t hurt?”

“No. I told you, he’s a gentleman.”

“Are you going to be alright going back inside?”

“Don’t patronise me.” She shrugged off his hand. “I’m fine.” To bother him, she added, “Couple’s spat.” The scowl that drew onto his face made her chuckle. “Come on. You still have searching to do, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It took him a couple tries to get his feet under him. “I could have used your help this morning. It’s come to my attention that I am not the best liar.”

“What do you mean? You don’t have to lie to avoid swallowing pills.” She drew in her mana, and the fog dissipated.

“Faking swallowing. The doctor didn’t believe me. She waited until the painkillers kicked in. Once I realized she wasn’t going to leave, I tried to heat myself up to speed things along.”

“It looks like it worked.” She strolled between the flowerbeds. Clearing her throat, Nebra tried to work through her guilt at giving away Ferdinand’s secrets again. “Ferdinand directed the painkillers last night. It’s why you were out so quickly.”

Fuegoleon frowned. “He wanted me out of the picture.”

“Obviously. But he also thought you would appreciate the relief.” Before he could object to that, she continued, “The spell he used to do it is one he doesn’t need his grimoire for, so if it comes to a fight, we should be sure there’s nothing he could use to poison us or knock us out in our systems. Dosage doesn’t matter. He also has minor spells to affect the outcome of things like a dice roll or a shot in the dark. His abilities are passive. It seems that he relies on others to put things in motion, and he follows through.”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Then we’ll have to separate him from his guards and servants.”

“And take chance out of the equation,” Nebra added. “Not that magic knights rely on chance.”

They entered the house and fell quiet. Inside, there were too many listening ears. By then, they knew what they should be doing, anyway. Fuegoleon would search. Nebra would clean herself up and meet Ferdinand. When Fuego patted her back and left her side, anxiety twisted in her stomach again. What would she feel facing Ferdinand now?

Nebra took her shower. Then she took a bath. Lunch passed. Her stomach paradoxically felt too hollow to put anything in. Completely unsettled. She turned away the servant who arrived with a plate. By the time dinner came around, she was feeling light-headed from hunger, though, and guilty that Fuegoleon was doing his job while she was neglecting her own. She did her usual bit of prep and made her way to the dining room.

Ferdinand’s expression upon seeing her was pleasantly relieved, and then penitent. “Good evening, Nebra.”

_ Is he disappointed?  _ Despite the ease of reading his expression, suspicion crept along her spine and leaned on her shoulders. She forced them back and lifted her chin. “Ferdinand.” She acknowledged before strutting past him to the table.

He pulled out her seat for her and sat down across the table. “...Where to start,” he murmured quietly.

She leered down her nose at him. “I’m surprised you haven’t rehearsed. You seem like the type. Or are you squirming for my entertainment?” If that was the case, she had to admit that it made her feel better. The nervous creature in her stopped screaming for her to fight or flee.

“Your absence at breakfast and lunch left me time to overthink my first final draft.” 

He might as well have admitted that she was right. That meant he didn’t need her help. She pulled the bread basket to her, took a swig of her wine- which made her entire mouth and throat hot -and started eating rolls with the energy one might eat popcorn.

“I pushed you into things too quickly. I should have put more emphasis on what you wanted to do last night. It wasn’t proper of me. I am sorry… I beg your forgiveness.” He dipped his head with sincere remorse.

“Tell me what you thought you needed to ‘confirm.’ In full detail.” Her heart thrummed uncomfortably, putting pressure on her throat and her stomach. She needed to know what he knew. How much damage was done.

“I have only an abstract idea of it. I get the impression that to stop the spell, you would need to be vulnerable, and do a number of other things. But I do not know what those other things would be…”

“Extrapolate,” she insisted. The hair on the back of her neck was standing, and she leaned forward over the bread bowl as if she would pounce on him. Her gaze was venomous, and she wore a plastic smirk. It probably looked like she was having a lot of fun. She couldn’t decide whether she needed to find a way to cut him down, or if this was under control.

“I believe,” Ferdinand began, “your intention was to end the spell once the threat was gone. It asks for something like… trust.” She noticed how carefully he chose the word, and he did not linger on it. The fact that he was moving away from ‘vulnerability’ pacified her. He must have noticed, because he continued with more confidence. “I’m certain the spell was just finicky. I don’t think it was one simple thing that could satisfy it. Maybe a combination. Probably completely unrelated happenings at just the right time. Changing the end parameters would be an easy enough task, so we need not dwell on it. We need not return to the spell, at all.”

Nebra’s fears had been, for now, soothed, but she decided to play with him a bit longer. She pinned him with her cold smirk and ran her finger around the rim of her empty wine glass. Dinner was set on the table between them. Roast pheasant. “Did you rewrite my spell dozens of different ways, Ferdinand? Doesn’t it hurt to lose all that work?” she asked. Glancing away, she bit her lip. “Maybe I overreacted.” The words were a braided rope, and that rope would be climbed to equal footing with her as easily as it could be tied around his neck. She was being generous, and if he was stupid enough not to realize it, then he deserved what he got. Nebra took a bite of her dinner.

Ferdinand was not so stupid. He caught the rope. “Your reaction is appropriate. I overstepped. I apologize from the depths of my being.” Then, with a powerful metaphorical yank of the rope, he jerked Nebra off her high horse. “Next time, we’ll do it your way and keep things under the covers.”

The whiplash made her nearly choke on her pheasant. She managed to pull herself together, face burning. Luckily, her throat was numb from her wine, so it didn’t hurt to swallow her half-chewed bite.

Ferdinand regarded her with an expression still sober and penitent, but she could see the amused glint in his eye.

“You’re a villain,” she rasped, putting a hand in front of her mouth. She leered at him, but she couldn’t stay anxious. She couldn’t even stay mad. Clearing her throat, she added, “but I will forgive you this once…”

“Thank you. I appreciate your patience with me, dearest. It’s more than I deserve.  _ You’re  _ more than I deserve.” He smiled warmly at her.

His sweetness, soft as it was, hit her with an intensity like the sun, and she had to look away. Her cheeks warmed. Nebra felt suddenly young. Shy and lonely and fifteen. “I know,” she managed.

He seemed content to eat in silence for a bit, and she took the time to recover. Her focus was on her food, but she glanced, every so often, over at him through her eyelashes. Occasionally she caught his eyes looking at her. His expression was always knowing, and she felt like they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Maybe this was how she ought to feel, knowing that he almost knew something about her that she never shared with anyone else who mattered.

Nebra was nearly done with her entree when she made up her mind that she wanted to hear something from Ferdinand. “Dearest F,” she started, “you asked me a lot about the Silver Eagles when we were writing. Why was that? Did you consider joining?”

He shook his head. “I knew my abilities were not useful enough for the Magic Knights at the time, let alone the Silver Eagles. They have their own methods for delivering messages. My parents were also opposed to violence, which is not a quality I share with them even with an affinity passive like theirs. But I did not want to go against their wishes. As to why I asked in the first place… I love to learn, and I enjoyed your stories. I thought the Magic Knights would be a useful subject to know of- and they are- but I most liked the way you wrote about them. You described all kinds of interesting spells and battles, and your enthusiasm came through when you did.”

She played with a lock of her hair and avoided his adoring gaze, flattered. “Why don’t you join the Silver Eagles, now? I could put in a good word for you.”

He chuckled. “Taking that path might be a little complicated, now, but your will is my command.” The servants took their empty plates and placed dessert in front of them.

It was a slice of cheesecake with a light caramel-colored sauce and sliced almonds sprinkled on top. Nebra perked up, picked up her dessert fork, and took a bite. She closed her eyes, savoring the moist texture and sweet flavor. “ _ Mmm _ . What is this?” she asked, twirling her fork happily. She nearly dropped the utensil, her hands uncharacteristically clumsy for some reason.

“Amaretto cheesecake.” It was so obvious that he was making a mental note, he might as well have written it on the tablecloth in front of him. “You like it? Don’t be afraid to have seconds.”

Nebra thoroughly enjoyed her slice, and took him up on his offer of a second. She could tell he was as satisfied as she was to discover a new favorite of hers. When she was full, she set her napkin aside and stood. “Ferdinand, let’s…”

He raised a brow and stood. “Yes?”

“Er…” her head swam. The room seemed to swish gently, like a ship at sea.  _ Ah… Amaretto is alcoholic, isn’t it? But still, it’s just cake. Surely it couldn’t have been this much…? _

“Are you alright, dearest?” Ferdinand asked, coming around the table check on her. 

“What did we drink with dinner tonight, dearest?” she asked, trying to make her planting a hand on his chest as he approached look casual.

He blinked and, to her deep regret, realization dawned on his face. “It’s a bit stronger than what we’ve had the past couple nights. Ghertin Mousseux. It supposedly pairs very well with pheasant. I didn’t think it would be too much to drink with dinner.”

“It does pair well with pheasant,” she agreed, ignoring his last statement. She looked away, embarrassed by how much a difference this had made. The room felt like it was still turning even when she stopped turning her head.  _ He can’t see me like this.  _ “Why don’t you walk me back to my room?”

“I can take you to a new room if you don’t want to stay in my bed,” he offered.

She waved her free hand dismissively. “I have things in my own room that I would like to check on. Lady things.” His brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue with that excuse. Men rarely did. Taking his arm, she commanded, “Come on, walk me back.”

They passed the doctor on her way out of Nebra’s room and found Fuegoleon in bed. His eyes were closed, his breathing relaxed, and the room warm from the heat radiating from him. The doctor had been more efficient in her bandaging than Nebra had been, Nebra noticed, and much of the Vermillion’s bare chest was on display. “Oh my,” Ferdinand said. “He’s not ill, is he?”

“No,” Nebra answered the same time the doctor did.

The doctor blinked at her. “He’s not suffering any of the negative consequences of a fever. It seems that he can handle his own heat.”

“He is just like this at times. You remember how hot he was when we caught him,” Nebra waved her hand dismissively. “Maybe he’s having a bad dream.”

Ferdinand and the doctor both seemed satisfied enough with that answer. Ferdinand lingered in the doorway and the doctor left.

Nebra gave Ferdinand a dismissive wave of her hand and did her best to look coordinated as she strutted to her bathroom. “I need to rest tonight. Shoo.”

“Very well. I will check in on you later. Please hydrate.”

She just flicked her wrist again. “Goodnight, Ferdinand.”

“... Goodnight, Nebra.” He stepped out. 

Nebra downed a glass of water, and when she left the bathroom, Fuegoleon had tossed aside the comforter and was lumbering across the room. “I found it,” he declared, pulling open her drawer.

Nebra’s breath caught in her throat when she recognized the silvery cover of Nozel’s grimoire. “You found it!” In her rush to reach it, she nearly fell into Fueoleon’s arms. He steadied her with an arm around her waist as she grabbed it from his hand. She flipped it open as if she could check that everything was there. Relief washed over her. She swayed on her feet. Leaning on Fuegoleon’s chest, she sighed, “Thank you. My gods, I could just kiss you.”

His grip on her, a bit less careful than usual given his inebriated state, tensed. “You don’t need to… I mean, I shouldn’t- I have questions. Let’s sit down.”

She giggled, giddy. “Okay.” They sat down in bed. Nebra hugged Nozel’s grimoire to her chest, sincerely dizzy with glee knowing that it was finally safe again. Being so far from Nozel, seeing the book in good condition almost made her feel like he had to be recovering well, too. She was hardly paying attention to Fuegoleon. It surprised her when he started talking.

“How… the hell did that man steal Nozel’s grimoire?” the Vermillion asked, rubbing his head. Consternation was the most expression he could put on his face.

The memory felt distant, and she had no desire to recall the pain. “He… He took it.” There was little affect in her voice.

“Is that why the report on the desert dungeon was delayed?” Fuegoleon asked, face scrunched in the attempt to convey some stronger emotion.

She kept her eyes on the book and leaned her head on his shoulder. Trying very hard not to think about Nozel laying bandaged and propped up by pillows, she nodded. 

He ran a hand down his face.

“So you understand now… Ferdinand is a powerful mage, capable of defeating the eldest Silvas with the proper planning. It’s… it’s very impressive.” She twirled her hair. Thinking about it was leaving her breathless. “The way he uses his magic is so… ingenious. It leaves you completely defenseless.”

“Why are you praising him?!” Fuegoleon exclaimed. He couldn’t quite put the energy into it to make the question biting.

She leaned away from him, face getting even redder than her drunken blush. “I’m not! I’m just… saying that he is a noteworthy adversary. He has a special kind of power. How would you feel if someone defeated Mereoleona then asked for your hand in marriage?”

He stared at her, uncomprehending.

“You see, it’s overwhelming!” she snapped. She squeezed Nozel’s grimoire tighter. “And he isn’t some common thief like you want to believe. He treats me so well, without compromising himself. He’s brave enough to go toe to toe with me, and respectful enough not to cross the line.”

“Just this morning, you were angry with him,” Fuegoleon objected.

“He learned his lesson,” she responded. He still looked like he was having a great deal of trouble processing all this, so she changed the subject. “...Did you find your grimoire?”

His brows knit together. “No. He was keeping them separate. I considered leaving Nozel’s be until I found it, but I was afraid it might be moved in the meantime.”

“If it’s not in the library, and I didn’t see it in his room, it must be in his study,” Nebra guessed. “Do you know where that is?”

“No, but I’ll have to find it,” he sighed.

“I can draw you a rough map.” Tucking Nozel’s grimoire under her arm, she searched through some of the drawers. There was no way Ferdinand set up this room for her without providing pen and paper. She had a modest desk under one window, and she found what she was looking for inside. Laying out a large piece of stationary, she started drawing. Fuegoleon ambled to her side and looked over her shoulder as she did.

The eldest Silva sister’s spatial memory was impressive, and even though she was drunk, the map was coming together by the time they heard someone at the door. Nebra’s head shot up so fast, she stumbled backwards. “It’s Ferdinand!” she hissed, snatching the map and Nozel’s grimoire and clinging to them like her thin frame could hide both. 

Fuegoleon reacted more to her alarm than to the knock, itself. Face serious but certainly far from calm, he grabbed Nebra by the waist and tossed her into the bed. She yelped as she bounced on the mattress, her grip on the two objects tightening.

There was another knock.

“ _ You’re  _ supposed to be in bed, you fool!” she stage whispered, eyes wide.

He looked around as if shocked by the arrangement. She could see the medicine seeming to stick in the gears in his head and keep them from turning, but he still surprised her. “Fuego-!” She cried in alarm. He leapt onto the bed. His knees landed on either side of her thighs, and as they bounced, he grabbed the comforter and pulled it over them. The springs of the mattress launched her face into his pecs. Her head was flung back onto her pillow like she had hit an airbag. There was some collision below the belt, too, but while he noticed, his face only contorted in alarm for an anticipatory moment. He was too numb to hurt.

Her face burned, and her head was swimming. She grabbed onto his neck as an anchor. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. His body was hot against her arms; she felt sweat bead her skin. His face was inches from hers. Unable to hear whatever he might have planned for this situation, she had to make an executive decision about their ruse.

She smashed her lips against his. His mana flared uncomfortably for a moment before he reigned it in and kissed back. The passion behind it startled her, and she opened her mouth, gasping in a breath around him. Her parted lips came back together around his lower lip, and she gave him a playful nip. He jerked away, pinned her with a smoldering leer, and dove back at her mouth. She giggled against his rougher kiss, their lips grinding against each other. His tongue flickered out, requesting entrance, and she readily let him in.  _ Gods _ , the only thought she could manage to form was,  _ he’s a good kisser.  _ He had landed carefully not to crush her- not to even threaten an indecent touch if they were still. But Nebra wasn't still. Moaning, she buried one hand in his hair and arched her back, desperate to feel his muscular chest and abs against hers. 

In a gesture too on the nose to be symbolic, Nozel’s grimoire wedged itself between them under the covers. They pulled apart, both panting, as their eyes snapped to the closing door. It was shut hard, but not quite a slam. Nebra dropped back onto the sheets, chest rising and falling. It took her a moment to remember why they had been doing this. “Guess… guess we got him?” she huffed feebly, gaze drifting back to Fuegoleon.

His face was burning crimson, probably matching hers. He cleared his throat. “... Yes. Got him. Certainly.” His eyes flickered around her face, unable to meet her eye.

“That was… a better plan than expected,” she said, brushing her fingers through his loose hair.

His breath was hot. “Yes… good for… morale,” he stammered.

“Morale,” she agreed with a brisk nod.

They laid there for an uncertain amount of time, wrestling with the question of what they should do next. Nebra’s head was spinning, and she couldn’t quite remember what they had been doing before this close call. 

“I’m sorry,” Fuegoleon finally managed, still not moving. “Usually I only kiss men in this type of situation, so I hope it isn’t too strange.”

“Huh?” That threw her so hard, the few thoughts she was starting to form were swept away completely.

“I mean when it’s dire- not that I’m bothered, kissing you for… for professional reasons.”

Nebra stared at him. He only met her eyes in brief glances. Normally, she might like seeing someone squirm, but she was too dumbfounded. “For… morale?”

“Yes, morale,” he breathed, relieved. “And for our cover.”

“My morale could be higher,” she noted as casually as she could manage before averting her gaze. Her hand still combed through his soft auburn locks, and the other held firm to his neck.

She felt him heat up again, and he flung himself off her abruptly, taking the comforter with him. He crashed onto the ground and wrestled clumsily with the blankets until he had them all wrapped around him. “I need to… We both need a moment,” he decided. “We will sort out morale when I am back.” And he dragged her bedding into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

Nebra stared after him, at a loss.  _ Surely  _ I _ didn’t do anything wrong in that situation, _ she decided. Grabbing Nozel’s grimoire, she placed it face down in the drawer of her bedside table.

When Fuegoleon came out, some time later, she had changed into pyjamas and was finishing up the map. He was serious again when she looked up at him. “How is your morale?” he asked cautiously.

She rubbed her pinking cheek. “... Same as before,” she replied, matching his caution.

He sucked air through his teeth and put a hand on his hip, internally debating. Her gaze drifted down at the motion, before quickly snapping back up. A blanket was wrapped around his hips to give him some modesty. Without the robe, he only had underwear left. “... I don’t want you to feel that I am placing you below my male comrades.”

She raised a brow at him.

His cheeks dusted pink, and he looked away. “So… we must keep morale high.”

“You… you’re serious?”  _ Maybe I hit the headboard when he tossed me and this is a dream, _ was the only explanation her drunken mind could come up with. Just to be safe, she managed, “You don’t have to do that.”

“A warrior’s kiss,” he said more confidently, meeting her stare with a determined look “We are warriors, after all.”

Her mouth opened. It closed. She had to gather her whirling thoughts before starting again. “I… Yes. I suppose. Of course.”

He crossed the room to her desk. Nebra practically jumped from her seat, despite her efforts to be cool. The room’s temperature rose a few degrees when she draped her arms around his neck. It was all fast until their lips actually met; Fuegoleon looped his arms around her back, pulled her close to his chest, and kissed her deeply. She melted against him, one hand sliding to his pectoral as her heart pounded. She could feel his pulse, too, hard and fast. She wasn’t sure if he meant to dip her, or if they were both just swaying with intoxication, but it didn’t hurt her feelings any.

When their lips parted, he sucked in a deep breath, cheeks flushed. She blinked up at him, starry-eyes. He stared back. Trying and failing to hide the fact that he was admiring her beauty, he cleared his throat. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Nebra breathed. “Really good.”

He nodded. “Good. I… am going to bed. I will sleep on the couch,” he decided. “...Let me know if your morale gets too low again.”

She mirrored his nod, still in disbelief, and released him. He retreated to the couch. Dropping back into her seat, she stared unseeing at her map. Time passed and, without making another mark, she decided it was done. She folded it up, set it in the drawer beside Nozel’s grimoire, dragged the comforter out of the bathroom, and curled up in bed. But she had a suspicion she would have a hard time getting to sleep tonight.


	7. Mouse Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few awkward conversations, Nebra enacts her grand plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are in the home stretch and every time I think Nebra will stop being embarrassing and horny, she gets worse. Silvas really have no rights in this series.

It was obvious when Fuegoleon awoke; even though he tried to be quiet, Nebra was stirred from her light sleep by his pained grunt. Remembering his wounds, she pushed herself upright. She could see his head over the back of the fainting couch. “Did you hurt yourself?” she asked groggily. “I can’t sleep with you moaning and groaning like that.”

He tried to stifle his next little huff of pain as he straightened and looked back at her. “I am sorry, lady Silva.” His tone and words said ‘sorry’, but his expression said ‘bite me.’

The idea of biting him, brought on by his grouchy expression, brought the memories of last night back at the same time it brought a blush to her face. His eyes widened at her expression, and color came to his cheeks as well.  _ Oh wonderful. We  _ both _ remember, _ Nebra thought unenthusiastically.

Fuegoleon ran his hands down his face and looked away. His words came out pained and genuine. “I am sorry about last night. That was completely inappropriate.”

Nebra pulled the comforter up to her chin, mortified. It was too early in the morning to think this through sincerely; she blurted out, “We did what he had to do.”

“I should never have put you in such a position.”

Flicking a hand dismissively, she admonished, “There’s no time to be pathetic about it. We  _ are _ warriors. There is nothing wrong with keeping our cover secure and our morale high. We were both sloppy last night, but tonight will be better.” Satisfied with her speech, she climbed out of bed. When she saw that he was staring at her horrified, she thought back over what she had said and felt color spread across her whole face. “I mean our performance. As warriors! There will be no kissing unless it is absolutely necessary.”

“I am sorry. You were obviously drunk. I didn’t mean to-” Fuegoleon started, reading more into this than she wished he had.

“And you were high. No one was at their best,” she insisted. “I am not offended, and unless you are, I see no problem to dwell on.” Nebra felt like she was handling this well, despite the frantic, unnoble tone of her voice. “Things could have gone much farther before I felt-” she stumbled, changing what she wanted to say halfway through the sentence, “before I felt that we were being unprofessional. Were you unhappy with what happened?”

He looked like a cow straddling train tracks.

Self-consciousness prickled Nebra’s skin. Was she remembering the night wrong? Had she made him uncomfortable while he was too high and polite to refuse?

“... No,” he finally answered. “We did the best we could, but…”

“But…?” she peeped, sinking.

“Did… that last kiss really help you? Or was I just believing what I wanted to believe?” Shame and guilt colored his face as he looked up at her from the couch.

“Oh.” Her heart quickened at the thought of their intoxicated smooch. It was hard to paint that as part of their cover considering they were alone, but Nebra looked away and scrambled to find an excuse for him not to feel guilty about it without admitting how much she enjoyed kissing him just to kiss him. “... I cannot criticize your methods of leadership with regards to that kiss. It accomplished what it needed to.”

She could feel his gaze on her; her blush had not let up, and she didn’t think it would easily. “Nebra, I really am sorry. I usually only kiss my closest men like that when they really need a boost or the mission calls for it. I don’t know what overcame me. I shouldn’t take advantage-”

Nebra had to interrupt. “You kiss your men like that?”

“Yes. Nozel can attest-”

_ Nozel? Oh for fuck’s sake…  _ Her mind couldn’t take this right now. “Then it’s nothing!” she insisted. “If that kiss was exactly like your… completely innocent man kisses, then there’s no reason to keep thinking about it.” 

His brows pulled into a look of uncertainty. 

_ Then this is different, _ she guessed, heart thumping eagerly. She waved him off. “Do not let my beauty and grace make you forget that I am a warrior and a royal first and foremost. That is how you should treat me. And you can have the same confidence in me that you have in your closest men.”

Well, she could see that his head was absolutely spinning, now, so she scooped up some clothes and scampered into the bathroom.

When she slipped out, Fuegoleon had claimed the bed. He still looked uncomfortable, but it didn’t look like any of his wounds had reopened enough to bleed through. He was reclined, not relaxing but handling things. They had really knocked him around last night. “Don’t push yourself too hard today,” she said, heading for the door.

He offered her a nod, not meeting her eyes. “Stay safe.”

Nebra made her way to the dining room. Breakfast was being set out, but Ferdinand had not yet arrived. She settled down and waited, trying to imagine how the conversation would go, given what Ferdinand had seen. She didn’t feel repentant, of course, and she didn’t think she should. Nevermind what he  _ thought _ happened. He had no claim to stake on her. But the idea of him being jealous and holding her a little tighter like he did when Fuegoleon interrupted their game… That brought a smirk to her face. The smirk didn’t leave her face when she sensed his approach.

“Did I keep you waiting, Dearest? You’re up earlier than usual,” Ferdinand noted, leaning over her shoulder and brushing her hair out of the way to kiss her cheek.

Her face warmed. That was not the greeting she expected. Had she missed something? “Yes, well, I was feeling quite energetic,” she purred, hoping it prodded him in the right direction. He had to have seen her and Fuegoleon, after all…

“Then your night was particularly restful? That’s good to hear.” He strolled around the table to find his seat. His expression looked almost smug, but there was bite behind it. Yes, he had seen.

_ Why is he so calm, then? _ She thought suspiciously. “I wouldn’t say restful,” she ventured, pushing pieces of pineapple around her bowl and putting on a wistful smile. “More like invigorating.”

“You had a nice time, then,” he observed.

Annoyance bled into her mood, but she tried to keep it out of her voice. “Yes. A very nice time.”

He hummed and nodded, acting unbothered even with that darker look in his eye. 

“...I must say,” she said cautiously, “Sometimes I forget Fuegoleon’s positive qualities.”

Ferdinand tilted his head at her, faux quizzical. “Is that right?”

“You can guess,” she said impatiently. “You know… Being a royal, he is quite… well-endowed.”

Amusement glinted in his eyes as much as bitterness. “Of course royals have a significant pool of resources to draw from, but one need not worry about endowment. I can acquire anything you desire.” He sipped his tea.

She stared at him, her mask falling at the realization that he was playing dumb.  _ He’s letting me make a fool of myself _ , she thought indignantly. The game went on; he had caught her floundering for his jealous attention, and now she didn’t know how to pull herself out of the situation. Eyes averted and cheeks coloring, she demanded, “So you would be happy being a cuckold? A Wittol? Maybe I should just have a litter of redheaded bastards, then.”  _ Surely that would goad him. _

He put a hand over his mouth, and amusement overtook the bitterness in his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” she objected.

“You’re too proud to do something so obvious, so a threat like that won’t provoke me.” He interlaced his fingers and rested his chin on his bridged hands. Smirking at her, he explained. “I won’t fight you on your private matters unless you actually commit to me, but try to get me going if you like. You’re not the only one who enjoys seeing others squirm.”

Nebra leered at him.“I know you’re not completely unaffected.”

“You’re right. I’m not, and I think I’ve done a fine job getting back at you.” At her seething, he offered a winning smile and added, “You’ll appreciate this, I know. Games are no fun without stakes, and that means sometimes you have to lose.”

That growingly familiar mix of anger and attraction swirled in her chest. 

“Did I hit my mark?”

Her gaze darted away, askance despite the blush in her cheeks, and she hissed, “ _ Hush _ .”

He ate the rest of his breakfast with a smug veneer that kept her silently simmering. As he finished his tea, he noted, “If it is any consolation, I also increased Fuegoleon’s dosage of painkillers. It’s better for him to sleep through the healing process, anyway.”

“If I find him drowning in his own spit, I will kill you,” she grumbled.  _ I knew he was jealous, _ her stupid heart tittered.

He chuckled. “Of course.”

She brought down her empty glass of juice, making a loud, impolite clunk on the table. The meal was done, she decided, and she stood, grabbed Ferdinand by the front of his shirt, and dragged him out of the dining room. Ferdinand, for his part, was enthralled. He let her lead without question or resistance. She knew he couldn’t guess what she would do with him, because she didn’t know herself.

Not until she turned on him in the garden. Her grimoire opened and glowed, pages flipping wildly. One hand still planted on his chest, she commanded, “Give me your fixed version of the spell. I am picking a random page. Twist fate and make the new spell the next thing I cast, or this is very likely to hurt. You have ten seconds. Nine… Eight…”

His eyes widened. His grimoire opened at his back like wings before floating over his shoulder and between them. She could see words appear on the blank page it had opened to- slower than the usual appearance of a spell, but fast for actual writing. Frantic, legible, upside-down, incomprehensible. She watched the words appear, reading them with almost hypnotic fervor. She could still hear her voice counting down. Without a second left, he tore out the page, and practically threw it into her face.

She didn’t read all of it. She only caught so many words after the ones she had first seen him writing. They were all she needed- the only ones to appear on the page of her grimoire. The air was at once warm and damp and nigh impenetrable. Nebra’s heart gave an anxious flutter until she felt Ferdinand’s chest rising and falling under her palm, and saw that the thick fog did move, just not with her mist’s usual vigor.

When no harm came, he let out a relieved breath and let his gaze wander. His eyes widened as they did. She could only feel his mana where she touched him; like before, it did not permeate the fog. Though, he didn’t have much mana left to exude, anyway. Helping her unlock this spell had almost exhausted him. Casting it had completely exhausted  _ her _ . “What did you call it?” Ferdinand murmured.

“Mist Spider’s Masquerade Banquet.” 

“Fitting,” he breathed, heart thrumming against her palm. “You really cast it on me.”

His reaction brought a smirk to her face.  _ That’s more like it.  _ “You knew I would.” Beneath her hand, his magic power was replenishing as Masquerade Banquet gently lapped up all the mana a royal and an estate full of servants could radiate in passing. If one tried to cast a spell that wasn’t fast and close range, their mana would be digested and swallowed. Standing this close to Ferdinand, and sensitized to the way particles moved in a cloud, she could vaguely observe the streams of mana from each person. Its drifting was a slow, diffuse meander. If one could feel their magic power being drawn, she doubted they could follow it to its vampiric center. But she believed, were she in Ferdinand’s place, she might be able to trace it to its source. Furthermore, maybe she could pull the mana together and bring it into shape- in theory- as she would with her own. There wasn’t enough in the air, and Nebra didn’t have the magic power she needed to manipulate it, but with time and practice as the person at the center of the web… 

Wariness gave way to cautious optimism, and optimism to pride and satisfaction. Where planning spells out in detail meant she knew exactly how to use them, this was something different. It was a process of discovery. It was fun. The spell, itself, felt simple but effective, and its casting came naturally. Most of all, despite Ferdinand’s influence, it was most definitely  _ hers. _ Unlike its first manifestation, Nebra easily ended the rehashed spell. The fog cleared, and Ferdinand’s replenishment slowed to the normal ebb of just his mana alone. Nebra’s eyes drifted to the text in her grimoire. The cloud of words on the page looked familiar in its shape, but more understandable, at least to her. She could trace her trains of thought in the scrawled letters, their proximity and shape as much as their denotation.

“Satisfied, dearest?”

She put a hand over her mouth to block her smile. “I suppose I’ll have to be. You didn’t make its casting very efficient.”

“I am sorry. Time was short.” He dabbed sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “That was… exciting.”

Nebra snapped her grimoire shut and returned it to the bag at her hip. “You’re not very spontaneous, dearest F,” she said, sing-song. Her point made and reward earned, she strolled back toward the manor door.

Ferdinand collected his own grimoire and followed after her. “I can be spontaneous,” he crooned. “You inspire me like no one else.”

She flipped her hair and smirked over her shoulder at him, relishing in his desperation for her attention. Having stoked his passion, she was hoping she could harness it for her will for the second time today. “Oh please. Of the two of us, I am the only one who knows a thing about spontaneity. You’re much too practical.”

“I can be as impractical as you want me to be,” he promised, catching her by the waist.

She stifled a giggle as his grasp brought her to a stop.  _ Courageous, given that I could have killed him just minutes ago…  _ Her heart pounded at the idea that he simply lived so precariously, or that he was so invested in her that he had taken that as part of the deal. “Prove it.”

Ferdinand scooped her off her feet and spun her around, stirring the shallow layer of fog that still hung over the ground. He threw them both into a patch of long, vibrant meadow grass and white and purple heather lavender. The stems and flowers were soft and springy beneath them. She landed on her back, throwing an earthy, herbal scent into the damp air. His hands landed on either side of her shoulders, and he leaned over her, eyes half-lidded. “How spontaneous is this?”

Her cheeks flushed, and her breath caught in her throat. “It-it’s getting there.” She wanted to be coy, but she could feel the eager smile on her face. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from his. Looping her arms around his neck, Nebra pulled him down into a kiss. His chest pressed down on hers, and her head spun giddily at the feeling of his muscular chest against hers. Her mind flickered briefly to Fuegoleon, and she was overcome by urgency, lest he storm in and interrupt things. Her hand slid down Ferdinand’s back and under his waistband. He gasped in surprise, pulling his face from hers only for a moment before winking and going down on her neck. Nebra moaned for the first time that day.

When Ferdinand came back up for air, Nebra’s voice was hoarse and her chest was heaving. The fog had cleared. Tiny white and purple flower petals had fallen over them like snowflakes. When he crawled back up to lay level with her, she caught him by the chin and kissed him on the cheek. His hands smoothed her skirt back into place before he caught her by the thighs through the fabric and pulled her into a real kiss on the lips.

She pulled back, giggling. “Gross!” she squeaked and buried her face in his neck.

His chest shook with laughter as he brushed his fingers through her hair. “It sounds like I’ve been perfectly spontaneous for you,” he said smugly.

Letting out an amused huff, she rasped, “Spontaneous is generous. I can tell you’re still fond of your alphabet.” 

“Only as fond of it as you are,” he teased.

“Oh shut up,” she snickered into his neck.

He twirled a lock of her hair. “We could go back to my room, and I’ll show you some other things we can both be fond of.”

A shiver traveled up Nebra’s spine, but she felt that- for once since being here- she was satisfied enough to actually manage being coy. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself.” Her voice didn’t come out as smooth as she would have liked, but her point was still clear.  _ A lady has to keep some things to herself. _ Sitting up straight, she waved him off. “Why don’t you help me up like a gentleman. Or do you want to leave me covered in grass all day?”

He smiled, eyes glinting with anticipation; she knew he was enjoying the game. Rising to his feet, Ferdinand extended a hand and helped her to her feet. 

Usually such gestures were for show, but Nebra wasn’t surprised to find her legs felt weak. Once she had her feet beneath her, though, she needed no help strolling inside; his arm around her was just for her comfort.

When she returned to her room to change into something less sweaty and grass-stained, Nebra found Fuegoleon in bed in a medicated sleep. He laid on his back, jaw slack. A drop of saliva rolled from the corner of his mouth. She took the liberty of turning his head to the side, just to be certain he wouldn’t drown. Scooping up her clothes, she slipped into the bathroom and started the shower. Steam filled the bathroom. She let it envelop her as she rinsed off.

As it had so many times before, the mist brought her clarity. Her anger about Nozel and Fuegoleon’s injuries resurfaced and ran through her veins, alongside her temporarily mollified attraction to Ferdinand. Instead of fighting the feelings, she let them run their course. A plan was coming together where she could take advantage of both. She stepped out of the shower and dressed before reapplying her makeup and doing her hair. As Nebra checked out her completed look in the mirror, her gaze drifted down to her Silva earrings.  _ Not yet. But soon. _ She brushed them into her hand and slipped them into the pocket of her grimoire bag. 

Chin high, Nebra stepped out of the bathroom, pulled the medical kit out from under the bed, and started to prepare. She smiled at Fuegoleon. He was still out cold.  _ Thanks for the idea. _

When Nebra had a servant bring her to Ferdinand, he was in his study. The room had the atmosphere of an organ room, but instead of the pipes of an organ, the spines of books- grimoires- were aligned and traveled up, reaching as color-coded columns to the vaulted ceiling. Where one would find the keyboard, there was a sprawling desk. Papers and stacks of books were neatly organized on top of it, and Ferdinand was writing on loose stationery with a fountain pen. Her eyes traveled up the stack of red covers over his head. There was no other place for Fuegoleon’s grimoire but there. Letting her gaze fall to Ferdinand again, she crept up behind him, waited for his pen to leave the paper, and blew in his ear.

Ferdinand startled. He twisted in his seat, fists raised. The pen flung from his hand and skipped across the floor. 

His expression went from alarmed to embarrassed when Nebra rocked back on her heels, laughing. “Did I scare you? You have two magic knights in your manor, you know. Your guard should be higher.”

He ran a hand through his hair, easily regaining his composure. “And here I was thinking you were the one out of those two that I could trust,” he snickered.

She tsked and lifted her bent finger to her mouth to hide her smirk. “So presumptuous, Ferdinand. Your claws aren’t that deep in me yet.” Leaning on his shoulder, she peered at the paper in front of him. “What are you writing, dearest?”

“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. A letter to some of my companions working in the south.” 

A perusal of the text confirmed his words. It was all business. “How boring. Come play with me. I think it’s time our games have some stakes attached.”

He raised a brow, looking up at her curiously. “Stakes?”

“Mmhm,” she leaned forward, showing off the clothes he had given her and her skillfully applied makeup. “We’ll play a series of games. The loser of each one has to remove an article of clothing, and the winner gets to pick the next game we play.”

His eyes flickered up and down her body. He could see that she was wearing a black and gold dress, strappy sandals, and her gold choker; all this was pitted against his full suit and all its layers. Her hair was down, there was no room for trickery with hidden clips or hair bands. “That hardly seems fair.”

“Oh, please, Ferdinand. Unless you’ve been hustling me, it’s plenty fair.”

“I haven’t been doing that badly,” he objected.

“I haven’t been trying that hard.”

He still looked conflicted. “... What kind of man would I be if I made you run around my home half-dressed?”

“The kind who gets to see me half-dressed,” she purred.

He stroked his chin thoughtfully, trying to save face from the deep blush that colored his cheeks.

Nebra rested her elbows on the arm of his chair and looked up at him through her eyelashes. “If you want an alternative punishment,” she decided, “The loser could choose between taking off an article of clothing and something else.” Tilting her head back as if she was thinking, she popped her hip. “But what would be a good substitute?”

His eyes followed the curve of her body just as she wanted and rested on the rectangular bag as her side. When he made the suggestion, it was cautious. “...The loser shows a spell from their grimoire?”

“That sounds fair,” she agreed, hopping up.

“It does?” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he rose from his seat. “You’re really okay with that?”

Nebra flicked her hand at him dismissively, turned, and strolled away. She hoped the sway of her hips was enticing. “I’m not the one who has to worry about it. Come on. Let’s get started, or we won’t do anything interesting by dinner.”

Nebra chose their first game. Just to fuck with him, she chose monopoly. About fifteen minutes in, she began to suspect that he was intentionally bombing this game to make it pass faster. When it ended just shy of an hour after starting, she was certain, and she let him know as much as he removed his suit jacket. “Now, that was exceptionally pathetic. Don’t you want me to have fun?”

“If you wanted to have fun, you wouldn’t have chosen monopoly," he teased.

“If you’re going to be a poor sport, I’ll choose it again."

He just smirked.“I know you have better taste than that."

She rolled her eyes, but he was right. “Let’s play mancala.”

And so the afternoon went. They breaked for lunch; by then Ferdinand was topless and barefoot, and Nebra was missing one sandal. When they had finished dessert, she leaned in and said, “Why don’t we spend the rest of the evening in the bedroom. I don’t want to embarrass you too much in front of the help.”

“Is that right?” he asked, raising a brow.

“And I don’t want to share this view.” She let her eyes trail over his muscular chest. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“You said it, not me," he chuckled. "But I do appreciate something to keep my spirits up.”

She chuckled. “Then maybe you should try winning more.”

“And here I was thinking you were sweet," he said, faux wounded.

“I can be very sweet, but you know by now you have to earn it.” She reached over and trailed her finger along his jaw. “And I think you really enjoy putting the work in.”

He leaned into it, showing off his gorgeous facial structure, and looked at her through half-lidded eyes. “I do, but every stick needs its carrot.”

She traced her fingers down his neck. “You get the carrot, and my sweetness, when we’re done. Can’t you be patient?”

“I need something to get me through the drought.”

“Mm, a very long drought from this morning?” she giggled.

“I love you, dearest,” he said, smiling cheekily, “but I gave much more than I received.”

She drew back her hand. Her cheeks colored. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

He blinked, reevaluating what he had said. Clearing his throat, he murmured, “You may disregard that. If you prefer.”

She took a deep breath, relaxing easily enough. Narrowing her eyes, she murmured, “No… I love you, too, Ferdinand. I think I have for a very long time.”

His face flushed. “Nebra…”

“But.” Placing a single finger to his lips, she disclaimed, “That doesn’t change the rules at all. You will have to wait until we finish our game.” Slowly, she drew her finger away.

“... Then to the bedroom it is,” he breathed.

Their games took up the evening. By the time dinner came around, Nebra had lost her choker, her other sandal, and her panties, and Ferdinand his belt and pants, so the servants brought them dinner and left them alone. Holding up the front of her dress with one hand, she ate a meal of finger foods on the raised table while sitting cross-legged in bed. It felt extremely intimate. She checked Ferdinand out and watched him return the gesture, both making an effort to show their interest without outright ogling each other’s bared skin. “It looks like we’re one game away from a winner,” Nebra purred. She popped a bite-sized, chocolate-covered cookie into her mouth. “And you thought we would need to use our grimoires.”

“Silly me,” he said. He was laying on one side, resting on one arm so he could match her level of dexterity. “But are we really one game away? You still have your dress and your bag to take off.”

She scoffed. “As if you’re going to win, Ferdinand. And I really can’t shake the feeling that me still having my grimoire on my person would make what comes after our little contest more fun for you.”

He tilted his head at that, sincerely caught off guard by the idea. She could see him consider it seriously before deciding, “Hm, no… that’s not how my interest manifests.”

She stirred her hot chocolate and took a sip thoughtfully. “Well, then. I’ll take it off, now. A final match that could go either way is just too good to pass up.” She set her mug on the table. Leaning back so her dress wouldn’t fall off her chest with her hands occupied, she fiddled with the loop of her belt.

As she expected, Ferdinand looked away politely in case her efforts at modesty were insufficient. He didn’t notice her pluck something out of the bag before she tugged her belt off and tossed the bag aside with her other clothes.

Nebra giggled at him as if she had just noticed. “You are such a gentleman," she purred, placing the hand with the object to her chest. She leaned across their table to kiss him, and the contents of her hand slipped from between her fingers and fell into his tea.

He accepted the kiss on the cheek with dignity. “I told you I keep the standards of nobility.”

“You really do, even with this very unnoble game we’re playing,” she chuckled, settling back. She thickened the vapor rising from his tea to hide the powder that floated on its surface until it dissolved. “You know, I think I’ll take mercy on you. The next game we play can be a word game. How does that sound?”

He smirked at her. “We haven’t played a word game yet. I thought you might be scared of losing so badly.”

She swatted his shoulder. “I just praised you for being a gentleman. Don’t ruin it.”

“I’m sorry, dearest. I was out of line.” He picked up his tea and took a sip. “I will have to let my actions speak for themselves.”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” she snickered.

They finished dessert, and their table was cleared. At her request, the servants brought in bananagrams, and Nebra explained the rules. She was sincerely surprised to see he hadn’t heard of it, but that was no hindrance for him. She couldn’t believe how quickly he burned through his letters. His smooth, attractive voice saying “Peel, peel, peel,” was utterly jarring, matched only by the way he crooned “Bananas.”

She put her one free hand over her mouth and leaned over his pieces to examine his work. No misspellings. No crowding or untidiness. No cheap tricks. Just a very masterful use of the word ‘ambidextrous.’ “My goodness, Ferdinand. Eager, are we?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m only playing a game.”

Nebra smiled, amused, and let her lashes fall half-lidded over her eyes. A part of her was relieved. Since it hadn’t kicked in before the end of their games, she would have to go to plan B. “And I guess you won fair and square.”

“I did,” he said, raising a brow and fighting to contain his smirk.

Nebra hopped out of bed and turned her bare back to him, swaying her hips. Her voice was sing-song. “Why don’t you clean up, Ferdinand? I promise I won’t take it off until you’re done.” 

She heard that pleasant clatter of the tiles and the table being set aside before he chimed. “I’m done, dearest.”

Her cheeks colored, and a sheepish smile touched her lips. Looking over her shoulder at him, she let go of her dress. Without her choker and belt to hold it up, it fell around her ankles. His eyes and smile both widened as she turned and crawled onto the bed. Walking her hand up his bare chest, she pushed him onto his back. “Was it worth the wait?”

Unable to take her all in at once, his eyes flickered between her face and her body. His heart pounded within him as she lowered her weight onto his chest, and his hands found a resting place in the curve of her back and the peak of her butt. Despite the eagerness of his body beneath her, his voice came out smooth and composed. “More than worth it. Just like I knew it would be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, though? She did a good job and I'm proud of her. More serious chapter up next.


	8. Into the Silver Mist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nebra makes a flawless getaway. 
> 
> Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get violent in this chapter, fyi.

Nebra laid in the crook of Ferdinand’s arm. Both of them were still breathing hard, and their bare skin glistened with sweat. As their breathing slowed, she traced the purple hickeys and bite marks she had left on his neck and shoulders.

“You are an evil mastermind,” he breathed, eyes closed. 

“Then we match.” She climbed onto his chest and leaned over him to show off the purple mark on her neck that she suspected was too high to hide. “Very risky, putting a mark on a royal like that.”

His eyes slowly opened, and he smirked at her. “I like to leave my signature on my work. But that’s not what I meant, dearest. You drugged me, didn’t you?”

“Mhm,” she hummed. “I don’t suppose you have a spell to undo that.”

“No, dearest. Not in this state,” he cooed. “You got me.” His eyes slipped closed again. “But the game continues.”

“Does it, now?” Nebra asked, resting her chin on his chest. “It looks pretty final to me.”

“... You could have killed me at any time,” he said sleepily.

“Yes. I still can.” Her mana had replenished over the course of the day, and it would be very easy to end him there.

He could no longer keep the edge to his smirk. His smile looked wistful. “But you won’t. I am a very lucky man.”

Unable to keep her expression antagonistic, she hummed in agreement.

Ferdinand huffed out the ghost of a chuckle. “I love you, too, Dearest N.”

Her cheeks colored.  _ That  _ was the issue with this man. But soon enough he would shut his stupid, pretty mouth, his idiotic, gorgeous face, his ridiculous, handsome lips… Butterflies clustered in her stomach, smothering the anger that would have allowed her to carry through any act of violence against him. She pushed off his drowsy form and started to get dressed.

"I'll write," he murmured, eyes slipping closed.

She pressed her lips into a thin line and swallowed her relief. Now it was time to go. Dressed, but still ruffled, she slipped out of his room. Nebra stalked to the study, swiftly incapacitating any servants who witnessed her. Riding a small cloud of mist to the top of the column of red grimoires, she searched through them. Grimoire after grimoire thudded onto the floor below before she found Fuegoleon’s.

She tucked it under one arm and glided through the manor to her room. Fuegoleon still laid deep asleep in her bed. She wasn’t surprised. His slumber was a solace; it meant she didn’t have to explain herself. Forming a cloud around him, she hefted him into the air and collected Nozel’s grimoire.

Outside, the glowing lamps hung as colorful beacons. Their light was softened by a natural fog. The glow of Nebra’s grimoire was faint as it floated in front of her and thickened the layers of mist enough to hide herself and Fuegoleon from Ferdinand’s guards. Their escape was flawless. The forest swallowed up the beautiful property behind her as she wove between the trees.

Satisfied, Nebra had reclined into her own cloud using Fuegoleon as back support. She had closed her eyes and let the swirling mist guide her through the trees for much of the evening. She didn’t know which way was out, but she was content to bask in the victory of her masterful escape and the cool, humid night for what must have been hours while she found her way through. The gentle, uniform passage of the trees through the mist lulled her like spatial music. She let her mind wander, let her mana naturally play with the water. It would take days to reach a location where they could communicate with the magic knights- long enough for any of the embarrassing evidence of all this, Ferdinand and his hickeys included, to disappear.

But she hadn’t let her guard down. She knew the second someone entered her radius. Someone powerful. Someone familiar. Nebra bolted upright, chilled. Her mana snapped inward like a breaking rubber band. She and Fuegoleon dropped too fast to the ground; he landed with a grunt, and she fell to one knee.  _ I shouldn’t hide _ , she recognized herself thinking logically. But her heart was pounding hard. Her body was frozen among the oversized ferns. This was too much to explain right now. Too much to report. Too much to admit.

It was stupid to think she had been missed, but she remained there almost long enough to believe it. To think that the footsteps crunching in the undergrowth would pass her, that the white light of the magic torch would not fall on her, and she might be overlooked. She fixed her eyes on the ground, curled her fingers into the leaf litter, and turned all her senses inward, willfully ignoring him until he stood directly over her.

“Nebra.”

“Nozel.”

Her brother, leader of the Silver Eagles and head of House Silva, was watching her in the light of his torch. The surprise she experienced at her own relief felt like a betrayal. Of course she should be happy that he sounded so much better than when she had last seen him. The anxiety she had been feeling slowly lifted. This was her  _ brother. _ The last person she should be afraid of. He was well enough to be here, and that was good news. She didn’t need to tell him everything. She just needed to give his grimoire back and go home.

The mist curled around Nozel. He was standing as still as she was now, but she could feel the vapor shiver at his jaw, his neck, his ankle- with every breath, his chest rattled imperceptibly to the naked eye. He had not completely recovered, and he was tense. His mana began to swirl close to his skin, warding off her mist with gentle yet persistent force. “Stand up.”

She swallowed her offense and tried to quell her renewed anxiety. “Brother-”

“Give me my grimoire,” he commanded.

Frowning, Nebra picked his grimoire up from where it had fallen on the ground and held it out.

He took it without looking at it. His eyes glowed in the light of the magic torch floating beside him. They scrutinized the whole situation, catching on certain details: the gold embroidery of her dress gleaming against the alien black fabric, Fuegoleon, in a stiffly rising heap behind her, Nebra’s tousled hair and missing Silva earrings. He caught her by the chin and tilted her head to the side. The motion was alarmingly quick; she was used to being able to guess his next move. His pulse and mana thrummed under his fingertips like nothing she had ever felt in him before, and his expression hardened.

But the foreboding that elicited was not what made her jerk away; it was mortification coloring her cheeks. She pressed her hand over the hickey, hoping beyond hope that he hadn’t gotten a good look at it. “Brother-” she tried to start again, to chip at the icy mood.

Swift as his initial grab, he raised his arm. His grimoire glowed, and mercury tendrils snapped shut around her like a beartrap. They pinned her arms to her sides, and she felt her magic cut off from the surrounding fog. The metal crept along her skin and squeezed, silencing her startled cry. Lifting her off her feet and moving her aside, Nozel addressed Fuegoleon. “Can you fight?”

The Vermillion looked up at him, eyes wide and hazy. It must have been quite a shock, falling asleep in a strange bed and waking up in the woods with your rival standing over you.

Mercury spread beneath their feet and lifted the mages: a floating platform. “Fine. I will handle this myself. Just don't get hurt in the meantime." The platform shot off through the woods, going back the way Nebra had come.

"Big brother," Nebra whimpered. Panic was scraping at her ribcage, and she was in such disbelief that she couldn't even put on a more composed facade, "what are you doing?"  _ Why is he treating me like an enemy? _

He didn't answer her. 

The trees whizzed past them. Her fear grew. He was heading for the manor. "Where do you think you’re going?"

Nozel silenced her with a sharp glance out of the corner of his eye. “Fuegoleon, tell me about the enemy.”

Her panic had turned defensive. She leered at Fuegoleon, who looked, even sitting, like he was struggling to keep his balance. But what could she do? Fuegoleon was not afraid of her.

"Enemy…?" The Vermillion rubbed his head and hardly noticed Nebra's gaze. His face was scrunched in a puzzled frown while his mind caught up with the situation.

"Ferdinand Penchant." Nozel's voice was cold and calm.

Nebra bristled. Her heart pounded.  _ How does he know about Ferdinand? _ She struggled against her brother's silver constraints, but his magic was unyielding. It only grew colder and harder the more she tried.

Doing his best despite the drugs in his system, Fuegoleon explained, "He calls himself a courier mage. His magic can… make things go places. He said he lets others start things. He follows through. Like with attacks. He can make them hit if they missed. You should take out his underlings first."

"I already killed him," Nebra objected, pushing her voice to sound impatient instead of protective. "We don't need to go back."

"Quiet," Nozel commanded.

"Brother, please! You don't need to-!" Metal crawled over her face and covered her mouth. She tried to toss her head out of the restraints, but the Mercury was solid and liquid when it was least convenient, always clinging to her face.

Nozel kept his gaze turned forward. "Describe the place."

"It's a stone mansion, with a low wall and garden around it… The man collects grimoires. There are servants. Guards…” Fuegoleon brushed a hand through his hair, struggling to recollect more useful information. His eyelids looked heavy over his eyes.

The contrast of Nozel’s sharp, alert gaze was jarring. Occasionally, when the light bounced off a nearby tree and caught his face, his features looked intense and his eyes glowed, but between, he was his usual icy calm. “Collect your thoughts,” he persisted. “You have until we get there. I won’t hesitate once we arrive.”

Nebra’s anger had given way to visceral dread by the time the dirt road came into view. She was exhausted. She was cold. She was convinced that no good end could come of this. Nozel was intent on cutting Ferdinand down. And that meant that someone she cared for would get hurt or worse. 

Nozel had picked Fuegoleon’s brain this entire time, and the only solace was that the fire mage had not been able to offer much more information. In his drug-addled state, he could hardly stay awake most of the trip and was just starting to really get his bearings when they were nearly there. As the first view of the estate appeared through the trees, Nozel lowered them to ground. He drew his mana in and deposited Fuegoleon between the roots of one of the giant trees. “Stay Alert. I won’t be long.”

When Nebra, still bound, floated after her brother, Fuegoleon found the energy to speak up. “Shouldn’t she stay behind?”

Nozel stopped and looked back at him. Some sort of message passed between them with the gaze; it felt like he only spoke for her benefit. “Nebra needs to see what I am about to do.”

The patriarch of House Silva approached the manor at a slow, but confident walk. His mana was drawn close, his form unassuming. Nebra was right behind him, a spectator. A powerless audience.

“Stop!” one of the guards demanded. 

They readied their spells as Nozel stopped at the front gate. His mercury manifested at once. Silver spears, reflecting the chromatic light of the lanterns, lanced out and impaled each guard through the heart before liquifying and dropping their bodies to the cold ground. Nozel resumed his walk inside, ignoring his little sister’s renewed struggling. Guards and servants met the same fate inside. With each one, Nebra’s dread grew. She wanted to scream for him to stop, to fight him. Her mana twisted and flared uncomfortably beneath her skin, but she couldn’t escape.

When he approached the door to Ferdinand’s room, her panic electrified her. She thrashed against her bonds, and pressure built up in her chest. She tried desperately to cry out, but even then she could not break free. Nozel paused at the door. She wondered if he was just giving her false hope so he could crush it when tendrils of mercury ripped the door off its hinges and thrust it into the room. Nozel stepped inside after it; the door had flown over the bed and missed Ferdinand, but that was no relief. The crash of it out of the window had woken him, but he didn’t get a word out before mercury slammed into his neck, hard enough to hurt, certainly, but soft enough for the action to let it melt around him. Nozel lifted Ferdinand into the air and slammed him into the wall.

She didn’t know if it was that Nozel’s focus on her had slipped, or if he did it intentionally, but when the metal around her mouth loosened, she shook it off and pleaded, “Stop, Nozel! You’ve proven your point! Please! Stop!” 

Nebra hadn’t expected Nozel to heed her plea. When he did, she kept begging; this must be another cruel trick.  _ He is just going to torment me more! _ She thought desperately. 

But he waited for her to stop before he stated, “I have  _ not  _ made my point.” Disdain had entered his baleful leer, and the hatred behind his gaze did not leave its target. His hand dipped into his grimoire bag. “Insect. Tell Nebra what you’ve done.” He tossed a short cluster of papers onto the ground beneath Ferdinand: his letters to her. 

Just like that, Nebra’s whole world crumbled, and the pieces fell into place. Nozel knew everything. Humiliation struck her with such force that it physically hurt.

Ferdinand’s hand scrabbled at the liquid metal encasing his neck and pinning him to the wall. The shock and the violence had ripped him to wakefulness, and no intoxication remained in his body; he was completely aware of his situation. His voice came out strangled. “I c-cast a spell.”

Nozel’s fist clenched at his side, and the metal momentarily tightened. Ferdinand’s eyes bulged with panic as it threatened to crush his windpipe. “Tell her what it does.”

When it loosened, he coughed and sucked in a gasp of air. “... It makes you… understand exactly how I feel- how I want you to feel,” he wheezed, amending in response to the twitch of Nozel’s fingers.

Nebra felt nothing about this.  _ Ferdinand isn’t stupid. He’s never cast a spell on me without my permission. He’s just lying to avoid being killed. That’s all. _ “That’s not true,” she insisted. “The letters are magical because they needed to be to get to me. He’s never-”

Nozel cut her off. “Release her from the spell and I will have mercy on you.” A ripple seemed to shake out through his mercury. She didn’t want to think of her brother’s current definition of ‘mercy.’

“I need my grimoire to do it,” Ferdinand wheezed.

“You will do it without, or I will end it with your death,” Nozel responded, venom dripping in his voice.

The pinned mage squeezed his eyes shut. “That won’t work. You need me alive. And I need time and resources.”

_ I need to do something, _ Nebra thought desperately. If she pretended to change her opinion of Ferdinand, it would only confirm her brother’s accusation, but how could he lift a spell he never cast? How could she convince Nozel that her feelings were real and he didn’t need to punish the man she loved?

“Release her,” Nozel repeated impatiently.

“I can’t-”

Nozel’s hand shivered, and the mercury slammed Ferdinand against the wall. “I said release her, you bastard!” he cried. 

She flinched at the splash against the wall, only to realize with relief that it was the mercury and not blood.

_ Wait. Nozel’s mercury? Splashing? _ It was as jarring as her brother’s scream. The silvery drops rolled down the wall, and she found her eyes fixing on them. Her restraints were becoming looser as well. The next time Nozel tried to slam Ferdinand, the mercury was too wet; it slipped right off his neck and exploded against the wall like a water balloon. Ferdinand fell to the ground. The courier mage swiftly got his feet under him, snatched his grimoire from his desk, and scrambled for the door.

Nozel spun to follow, swaying on his feet. Mercury beaded his skin like sweat. “Get back here!” he roared, face reddening with fury. “How  _ dare  _ you touch my sister! I’ll kill you!” His magic pulled together the metal in quivering blobs and shot them through the wall with all the grace and precision of a cannonball.

The binding spell dropped Nebra; she slipped from it like a bar of soap that had been squeezed too tight and landed unsteadily on her feet. Her eyes had not left her brother. This couldn’t be real. She was having some kind of nightmare.

Nozel grabbed the door frame, his arm trembling up to the shoulder and his chest heaving. He blasted more mercury down the hall after Ferdinand, but this time it took the shape of silver spears that looked only a little bit like they were melting. They must not have hit their mark; he ran down the hall after them.

Nebra ran after him, extending her mist in his direction. It couldn’t draw too close. His mana was flaring. Its usual weight seemed to spiral off him and dive back onto his skin. Vapor hung all around him, but it wasn’t water. Her breath hitched. The air was sparkling silver.  _ No. No no no. Nozel can control his magic too well for that. He never lets it linger like that. _ But that wasn’t what she was seeing. That didn’t explain how he was acting. Despite his usual care, the poison had entered his veins, and it had affected him so much that he could no longer control it. 

Nebra had to act fast. Her grimoire opened at her side and pages started flipping. She searched desperately through her spells. There had to be something that could help him. All the while, she pursued her infuriated older brother through the bloodstained halls. His mercury was tearing the house apart. No longer able to manage grace and precision, it ripped corners out of Nozel’s way when he stumbled and crushed anything that came too close with its unyielding force. Drops of mercury fell to the ground around him in a light drizzle.

As they rounded the corner into the wide open lounge of the library, Nozel’s legs nearly went out from under him. He stumbled to a stop and whipped his head around, eyes swimming. The movement was jerky. Nebra’s reflexes were faster, and she managed to stop without getting too close to her brother’s growing destructive radius. Her desperation was growing. She didn’t have any healing spells. Nothing that could save Nozel from himself. 

Movement above them drew her attention. Bristling, she looked up to see Ferdinand a step behind two servants at the banister of the library’s second level. Their grimoires were open and they readied attacks. Ferdinand prepared to direct them.

Anger flared in her. Two realizations attacked her mind.

The first was most pressing: she had a spell that could help. Her grimoire flipped to her newest spell, and she felt the massive depletion of mana needed to cast Mist Spider’s Masquerade Banquet. Fog consumed the library, the building, and the forest around it. Her spell devoured the mercury around Nozel, gnawing it down to his skin with gluttonous edacity. The two attacking mage’s spells were bite-sized by comparison. She didn’t feel Ferdinand’s, but with nothing to direct, his spell was powerless regardless. Nebra felt that her magic power was only empty for a second before the web her mana created between herself and her meals dragged their mana in and turned it over, digesting it like a monstrous stomach into something she could use. Most importantly, siphoning Nozel’s mana away from him would slow the worsening of his condition.

The second realization was that mercury was a poison that Nozel carefully controlled but that, in its natural state, would have easy access to his body. It could be directed. It could have its effects amplified with the right spell. She looked in Ferdinand’s direction, rage boiling over and hissing from her lips like a teapot. He could not see her, and she could not see him, but his mana was like a scent trail and now she was as ravenous as her spell. It didn’t matter if she loved him or not. This was the second attack he had made on Nozel that threatened his life.

She closed her eyes, breathing hard, and placed the living sources of mana in her mental map of the building. Outside, Fuegoleon’s magic power was pulsing, squeezing mana into her spell’s gullet like a nicked artery spurting blood to the rhythm of a heartbeat. She guessed he was awake and alarmed.

Nebra borrowed the other royals’ magic power, forced it along the thread between herself and Ferdinand, and bullied it into shape. The spell resisted; it wanted only to consume and to grow, not to expend its energy like this. But Nebra was in charge, and she was hungry for more than mana. She wanted blood.

It wasn’t pretty and it took its time to arrive, but the attack hit Ferdinand like a stampeding horse, crashing through the pair of mages ahead of him. He was thrown back from the banister. She wished she could see the dawning realization change to terror on his face, but this slow fog only gave her enough resolution to get the vaguest idea of his movements, like his scramble to get his feet under him and flee in blind haste. Before he could, the force of Nebra’s spell came down on him. His pained cry rang out nearly loud enough to overpower the heavy  _ crack _ of bones breaking in his leg. Not his femur; she wouldn’t risk such a large bone puncturing an artery and killing him too quickly.

“Nebra?” Nozel’s voice shook.

It pulled her attention away from the fight and her anger immediately simmered to anxiety. “I’m here, Nozel,” Nebra murmured.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Call the rest of the Silver Eagles.”

“I can handle this.” His shaking hand reached out through the mist. Despite the tremor in the extremity, his voice was regaining its composure as he went on. “It is my duty to protect you.” Still, if she weren’t wicking away his mana, she knew it would get worse. Even with her spell, the best she could do was slow the poison down.

Nebra caught his hand in one of her own, unsure what exactly he wanted. “ _ You _ need help,” she insisted, snatching the communication device off his belt. She brought it to her mouth and spoke into it, hoping that her spell’s gluttony wouldn’t destroy the signal completely. “This is Nebra Silva of the Silver Eagles. We need medical assistance for acute mercury poisoning.”

A crackle came through the device. There was nothing discernable. She wasn’t even sure there was a voice.

“We are fighting a dangerous criminal and we need medical assistance right away,” she repeated, clutching the device harder. It only sputtered in her hands.

"Nebra, we need to get you home," Nozel commanded, his quivering fingers tightening around her hand. "You need to see a doctor." She could hear a queasy uptick in his voice and feel his mana flare in the moments it rose off his skin and dissolved in thin rivulets.

Expecting the poison to throw him into another violent mood swing, she started to draw away, but instead he fell into her. She scrambled to catch his full weight. His head landed on her shoulder, and his arms went limp. “Nozel!”

His response was a nonsensical mutter.

_ It must already be worse than I thought. _ If he didn’t get treatment soon, Nozel would die or be permanently impaired. Mist Spider’s Banquet, thankfully did not swirl in response to her panic like her usual mist might. It stayed still, and the room kept its shape as she dragged Nozel to a couch and laid him down. His skin felt cold and clammy; as she drew away, she realized that he was covered in drops of silver.  _ Think, Nebra! You need to do something! _ She hated where her mind went, but she didn’t know what else to do. “Ferdinand!”

He had been struggling to rise in her absence, and he froze at her commanding call.

“If you do not save Nozel’s life,” she snarled, “I will ensure you live out the rest of yours in agony.”

“I’ll save him,” he breathed. His voice was impressively composed. “Bring him to me.”

Nebra dragged her brother up the stairs, using the mana her spell took from him to strengthen her muscles and speed the task. 

Ferdinand had his grimoire out already when she laid her brother’s unconscious body in front of him. He leaned over Nozel, all too aware of the short range he had to work in. His leg was at his side at a strange angle, bent too many times, and he clenched his teeth tight when moving jarred it. “I will deliver the mercury from his system, dearest.”

She bristled. Whether it was at the pet same, the way he knew exactly what he had done, or the way her spell couldn’t even taste the mana of his, she did not know. Maybe it was all of those things combined that silenced her long enough for him to get going.

“Anything you wish. I just think that this…” his breath hissed as he inhaled through his teeth. “This is an opportunity for you. Nozel has always tried to control you. To limit you.”

“He was trying to protect me,” she snapped.

“He is trying and failing, where you are succeeding. It just shows how much he’s underestimated you,” he hissed.

She shook her head and crossed her arms, heart pounding. Crouching beside Nozel, she watched Ferdinand’s hands work on him. Nothing looked different. His breathing was still shallow. Was it working? Or was he getting worse? “I don’t want to be praised right now.”

“This isn’t praise. It’s evidence. You are a stronger warrior and a better protector.” 

How could her heart still flutter when she received compliments from this man? Her brother was severely injured at her feet, and she couldn’t stop listening to his attacker. Was the visceral hatred she felt so easily wiped away? Nebra felt queasy, sickened by her own weakness. She pressed her hand to the marble floor to steady herself.

“Two royals were not enough to make you change your mind. You’re a woman of strength, poise, and resolve.”

_ Maybe I am, _ the young, lonely girl in her wanted to cling to his praise, even though everything else in her was berating her foolishness. It was so easy to remember her days bedbound. No one had been there for her but Ferdinand.  _ I’m loyal to those who really love me. _

“You deserve more than you’ve received, all this time. You deserve it and you know how to get it.”

“I have everything I need,” she growled.

“You deserve more,” he insisted gently. “And Nozel’s made every effort to keep you from getting it. You deserve someone at your side who makes you feel good. Who let you feel like yourself. You deserve someone who helps you grow stronger… Someone unafraid to say they love you, dearest N.”

Something inside of her objected, but it was silenced.  _ You deserve that! You deserve someone who really loves you! _ Nebra squeezed her eyes shut.  _ Doesn’t Nozel love me? _ She asked herself feebly. 

“You should be the head of House Silva, not Nozel. Trust me, dearest.  _ I  _ love you.”

Nebra’s gaze shifted to Nozel. She shook her head, wanting desperately to reject the shaky thoughts trying to manifest in her head. Instead, the full weight of what he was implying crashed into her mind. Her stomach rolled at the realization that his words were something she could ever consider. Having House Silva under her control, and Ferdinand at her side… She loved Nozel, but did he love her? Or was she only a burden? If that was all he thought of her, then maybe it would be a relief if he were too hurt to lead, and her life was no longer his responsibility. If she had someone strong and capable to help her grow powerful. She looked up at Ferdinand through her eyelashes and the fog. He was looking down at Nozel, grimoire open and glowing as he directed the poison in her brother's body. Surely he would understand. She would never let him kill Nozel, but to let his mercury cripple him… 

_ ‘He’s your older brother and he loves you and he’s terrified for you every time you go on a mission.’ _ Fuegoleon’s words hit her so hard they felt physically painful. 

She could hardly swallow her shame.  _ What is wrong with me? _

“House Silva would be the better for it,” Ferdinand offered. He reached out to put a hand on her cheek.

Her arm snapped out, mana coiling in her muscles as she closed her fingers around it hard. Ferdinand squirmed under her intense gaze. Nebra could not wrap her mind around her objections. She couldn’t put them into words. Talking around a lump in her throat, she tried her best. “Dearest F. My brother deserves a chance to tell me himself what he feels, and to fight fairly for his title. If he is in any way impaired… you’ll wish you were executed.”

He cleared his throat when she released him and took a shaky breath. “Message received.” His gaze turned back to Nozel, and his words lacked their previous charm. They were all business. “I can only pull the metal out. I can’t fix the existing damage.”

Nebra knew there were people who could. She didn’t need to hear more. “No more words, Ferdinand.”

He nodded, eyes downcast. A gurgle rose up in Nozel’s throat, and Ferdinand rolled him onto his side. She watched her brother heave silver liquid onto the ground, coughing and shaking from the effort. Once it had left his body, Mist Spider’s Masquerade Banquet easily broke it down to mana. The rivulets of magic leaking from his skin eased to its normal ebb. He was still unconscious, but he seemed safe. She waited until she had sapped enough from him that she could cast the spell again should she need to before dispelling the mist.

Nebra could sense the remaining servants moving about, taking stock of things, getting together what they could to flee. She didn’t look up when one helped Ferdinand rise, and he murmured, “Well, dearest, the time has come. Despite the change in events, I do want to follow your original plan.” He reached down, and his hand found her cheek. “Let’s meet again soon.”

She looked up at him, wishing she could hate him as much as he deserved. Even with his mangled leg dangling under him and a servant having to support him, he managed to look composed. He leaned down, and she found herself drawn in to kiss him. She refused the urge, eyes narrowing. "Don't touch me," she hissed, swatting his hand away.

He opened his mouth to speak, but like so many times before, was interrupted by a burning force. Flaming paws appeared from the ground and encased Ferdinand, Nebra, and the servant. Nebra felt a familiar shame.

“I can’t let you go so easily,” Fuegoleon announced, speaking from deep in his broad chest. He stepped forward, collected their grimoires while his own glowed, and crouched beside Nozel. His brow was furrowed in concern, but it eased when he saw that his rival was still intact. He picked up Nozel’s communicator. Speaking into it, he said “We have injured knights and a criminal in custody. I need reinforcements to comb the area and healing mages.” His eyes flicked over the other gathered mages. Ferdinand was silent, expression pained. Nebra couldn't meet Fuegoleon’s gaze as he decided, "When we get back, I'll get the full story about what happened here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this one was serious. Nozel be trying to teach his sister a lesson, but he's never been very good at that. Not that it's really his fault this time. I looked forward to writing him losing his cool for the longest time.


	9. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nozel, left exceptionally emotional while recovering from the injuries he sustained, tries to tell his siblings how much he loves them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to talk a whole lot at the end of this chapter, but I will say right off the bat that Nozel is a bit over the top. He has a medical reason to be(Mercury poisoning causes mood swings, among other things), but I just wanted to assure you all that I know he's not completely himself. The boy has been swallowing his emotions for like ten years or so, so I'm giving him no choice but to express them. All at once. Then he can go back to repressing them for another few years.

Nozel looked out his window at the courtyard below, where Solid was trying to lure Nebra away from a book. In the weeks since she had returned, their younger brother had taken his place as her personal bodyguard very seriously. He had been glued to her side as much as was practical during her medical exams and mental evaluations, insisted on distracting her from her anxiety with games and training, and held her hand like a little child when he received his grimoire. He woke her every morning, and reported to Nozel every evening. As he watched his little brother successfully pester her into a game, he thought to himself that Solid was a better brother than he had ever been.

"How is she?" Fuegoleon asked from where he was standing beside Nozel's nightstand.

"She's stubborn. She recognizes that her behavior wasn't normal, and she agrees that he probably enchanted her, but she doesn't truly believe it. She doesn't think she can."

The fire mage sighed. "I guess it's easier said than done. Don't worry, she'll come around. He can't get to her anymore."

Nozel couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice. "She's been making excuses to see him. Closure. Revenge. Questions… I told her he was executed." His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. He wished the man who had taken his sister was dead, and once the Clover Kingdom got everything they wanted from him, he would be. But they had grimoires to find the owners to. He just hoped no one decided Penchant was an asset in the meantime.

"I would have done the same thing. The idea of him getting a message out…"

"Solid is looking out for that." His ring finger twitched of its own accord, and he curled his fingers into his comforter to hide it. “Did I tell you he was the one who found the letters?”

Fuegoleon’s gaze drifted away from the window. “Is that right?”

“He noticed Nebra acting strangely and looked through her things. He absolutely destroyed her drawing desk when he couldn’t unlock her drawer. He said that he just had a bad feeling as soon as she was gone.”

“It could have been more tactful, but it’s good to see every member of the family coming together to look after each other,” Fuegoleon said, shifting where he leaned his hips against Nozel’s nightstand. He subtly scratched at the fresh scars under his tunic. “Younger siblings are always the first to pick up little changes in their elders, for better or worse.”

Nozel leered into the empty space ahead of him. “I should have noticed sooner.”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty, Nozel.”

His gaze returned to the window. Of course Fuegoleon would say something like that. He had seen almost everything of the eldest Silvas' messes, and now his rival's visits felt like an act of pity. Nozel knew, deep down, that the Vermillion was here because he sincerely cared, and it was good for him, but he wished he could be alone in his humiliation. "Don't tell Nebra about that," he commanded. "She needs a brother she can trust."

He could hear the hurt in Fuegoleon's voice. "Nozel…" But he stopped short of assuring him that Nebra trusted him. He sat down on the edge of the bed, instead. "I should… I should tell you something I didn't include in my report." When Nozel's only response was silence, he went on, "... Penchant was very skilled at taking advantage of others' weaknesses. Nebra's and my own, but also yours."

Nozel fixed him with a venomous glare. Did he think his prolonged recovery was not enough to tell him that? Anger crystalized too sharply in his mind. It was an emotion he had to swallow before it wracked his body like a tremor. The doctors had said that with their magic his mind and body would heal, but his emotions still felt raw, like every time he felt them, it was the first time. The moodswings had gotten less frequent with time, but they were much harder to deal with than tremors.

"I don't mean physical or magical weaknesses," Fuegoleon added under his critical gaze. "I mean he… he twisted what he knew about your behavior. I don't know what he wrote about you in the letters, but he said things to Nebra and me to hurt our confidence in you, and…"

Nozel's mood dropped so hard it felt tiresome to even be sitting up. He would rather have been angry. "And?"

Fuegoleon's expression turned apologetic. "He made some points."

It took everything in his power not to sink against his pillow. He had read the letters. He didn't want to imagine how much more Penchant had said in person, and he didn't want to know what Nebra had written to prompt what he had read. "Ah."

"I think… it would do Nebra a lot of good, recovering from all this, if you told her how much you care about her. If you gave her a hug and tried to be closer." He brushed a hand through his auburn hair uncomfortably. "I think it would be good for all of your siblings. Just to say you love them more often."

"They know that." Nozel hated the feebleness in his own voice.

"That doesn't mean they don't need to hear it," Fuegoleon murmured.

He scowled at his rival. Wouldn't it sound strange, coming from his mouth? They knew he loved them. It was why he protected them. Why he had such high expectations for them. Why he worried. They knew that. Saying it out loud, especially in his emotional state. He couldn't. It would embarrass all of them.

Fuegoleon leaned forward and caught him by the cheek. "Nozel, you're my best friend and I love you." He leaned in and planted a kiss on his lips. "No homo," he added as their lips parted.

When he pulled away, the quick beating of Nozel's heart was refreshingly free of anxiety. His cheeks colored; he put his hand over his mouth and looked down at the comforter. "I see…"

"See, that felt good, didn't it? A little morale boost…" He ran a hand down his own face. "That was okay?"

"Yes… yes, I see your point." Morale boost was the right word for it. For once, a mood swing into something that wasn't just another flavor or misery. "Thank you, Fuego. I…" He cleared his throat. "I love you, too."

He could see the Vermillion's face brighten at the corner of his eye, and Fuegoleon clapped him powerfully on the shoulder. "There it is. I knew you had it in you. You'll talk to your siblings, then?"

He tried to hold onto the good mood his friend had gifted him. "Fine. I'll talk to them."

That evening, Solid came to Nozel’s room to make his usual report. Nebra hadn’t made any new developments that their little brother could observe. Nozel had him describe the events of the day ad nauseum, anyway. What songs had she played in the piano room? What book was she reading? Was she eating enough? Of what? But eventually he ran out of things to ask. 

“Are you done?” Solid asked, a bit irritated by how thorough his questioning had been.

Nozel narrowed his eyes at Solid, trying to steel his own nerves. Three words. They should be easy. He could see Solid clamming up under his sharp gaze, so he looked away, clearing his throat. “Solid. You are… my little brother.”

Solid’s voice came out concerned. “Yes…?”

The eldest Silva looked back up at him and took a deep breath. An embarrassed color came to his cheeks.  _ Must I really do this? _ But he was stronger than this. He should be able to say so little without such anxiety. “Solid. I… love you.”

His brother took a step back and looked around, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Should I call the doctor?”

“What? No- Why would you…?” Nozel stammered, indignation rising up in his chest too fast and too strong for his words to stop stumbling.

Solid pursed his lips, still clearly deliberating, but he finally decided against it. An impish smile crept across his lips. “Ah, I see.” He threw back his narrow shoulders and puffed his pubescent chest. “ _ I’m _ the favorite little sibling now.”

“That-that is not what I said. I have no favorites!”

But his brother was already puffed with pride. “Of course. I’m the obvious choice, aren’t I? You’ll see, I’ll be the best magic knight, too, brother. You’ll love me even more, then.”

“That is not what this is about!” Nozel insisted. “Do not go around saying things like that, or I will never say I love you again. I’ll rescind it this time!”

He smirked. “Okay, Nozel! It goes without saying, then!”

“Rescinded! I don’t love you anymore!” Nozel snapped. He could feel some other strong sentiment rising in his chest, and he couldn’t let Solid see him lose his composure. Cursing his injuries, he demanded, “Get out, Solid!”

Solid lifted his chin. “I love you, too, brother.” And he turned and swaggered out, swelling with unearned fanfaronade.

Nozel held his breath until the door shut behind him. Then, he collapsed against his pillows and laughed so hard tears wet the fabric. He hoped pillows were enough to smother the sound, because he felt so hysterical, he could hardly explain himself if someone came to check on him.

Nozel’s eyes felt sticky as he pulled them open. He was face down in his pillow, which was damp with an unpleasant mix of tears, drool, and snot. The mess was so off putting that Nozel pulled himself entirely out of bed. He grunted quietly, his body slow to react. The curtains blocked out the light, but there were no lines of light beneath them; it was still the middle of the night. He had woken up early.  _ Getting back to normal again, then… _ As he rolled his feet on the floor, working out the pins and needles, he thought of his evening. Now that he could think it through with clarity, he decided it had gone well. Solid had made it clear that he knew Nozel loved him, though he did seem to appreciate hearing it… 

Energy coursing through him, Nozel stood. His legs only wobbled slightly, and his determination was powerful enough to work through it. He marched to Noelle’s room. There was no point in wasting his current mood or energy. As much as he tried to block out the thought, he knew if his siblings needed to hear that he loved them, Noelle likely needed it most. He didn’t hesitate at her door, didn’t give himself a chance to lose his resolve. “Noelle,” he said as he entered- quietly, but it sounded loud in the dead silence.

Noelle startled upright with a squeak and scrambled in her covers like she was trying to get purchase to run.

“Hush, Noelle. It's just me. You don’t need to worry.” He walked over and sat down more heavily than he would have liked on the edge of her bed. She didn’t calm down until he added, “It’s Nozel. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“W...what are you doing here?” Noelle murmured, blinking up at him. She looked alert, but sounded half asleep. Her face was hard to make out in the dark, save for the light of the hall falling on her wide eyes.

He wasn’t sure if not being able to see her resemblance to their mother made it easier to speak with her, or if his current mood was just particularly accommodating. “I wanted to tell you that I love you very much, Noelle. You’re my little sister, and I want you to know that.”

She just stared up at him, her expression completely blank. He wondered if she was still asleep, and this was some form of sleep-talking. He was about to speak up when her eyes started to water. Her small peep of a voice rasped, as the tears started to fall, “Really?”

Panic stuck him in the gut like a bullet, overwhelming the pain her questin had caused him. “Don’t cry, Noelle. That's not what you're supposed to do in this situation."

She wiped her eyes. "I-I'm sorry, big brother. I'll stop, I promise." She tried to contain her sobs.

He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair, trying to ignore the shudder in his chest and the wetness in his own eyes. "I shouldn't have done this," he muttered, horrified. He grit his teeth as the statement made his voice crack.  _ Damn Fuegoleon, putting us in this situation. _ He started to get up; he had to flee before he started crying, too. But Noelle was clinging to him, and his injuries were making his body uncooperative.  _ Are every one of my siblings going to make me cry?! _ He thought, anger bubbling up in an embarrassing sob. He pulled Noelle closer, and buried his face in her bedhead, sniffling and whimpering. Her grip on him loosened, but it was too late; now she was stuck. He cried uncontrollably into her hair. 

Noelle, having recovered, herself, he guessed, patted his back. "Brother... do you need a doctor?" She said cautiously.

"No," he rasped, loathing the pathetic tightness in his throat. "H-hush, Noelle."

She obliged and continued to pat his back until he was thoroughly cried out. The experience left him exhausted, and it took some effort to sit up. Noelle steadied him as she extracted herself from his arms. "Brother, you're sure you're alright?"

He noticed in horror that a string of mucous connected his nose to her hair before it snapped and dropped back onto his face. She had seen it, too.  _ Oh, the indignity…  _ "Life is soup, I am fork."

She frowned. He hoped it was just the shadows on her face that made her look so miserable. "Let's get you to your room," she said gently, helping him to his feet. 

He leaned more heavily on her than he would have liked as she guided him down the hall and tucked him into bed. If it weren't the first time he had left his room without assistance in days, he would have been surprised he was so drained. As she started to go, he clutched her hand. "Noelle… goodnight."

He couldn't make out her face, but she sounded only half present. "G… Goodnight, Nozel." When he released her hand, she crept tiredly toward the door and closed it behind her.

“I can’t believe you made me do that,” Nozel vented his frustrations. He had sent for Fuegoleon first thing after breakfast to tell him how wrong he was. The Vermillion was in his Crimson Lions uniform; he had left his squad to be at Nozel’s side, it seemed. The fool. It was making Nozel feel even more. “Of all the tedious, exhausting, unnecessary tasks…”

He crossed his arms where he stood beside the bed. “You really are out of practice.”

He flicked his wrist dismissively at him, but continued ranting so his friend wouldn’t take it as permission to leave. “My siblings didn’t need to hear it. Like it did them any good! Noelle was an absolute mess as usual, and it only encouraged Solid.”

Fuegoleon took a moment to process that. “...Encouraged Solid to what? Love you?” he finally asked, exasperated. “And if something like that upset Noelle, it might be because she hasn’t heard it enough.”

Nozel fixed him with a venomous leer. “It was terrible advice.”

Sighing, the Vermillion pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did Nebra react?”

“I didn’t say anything to her,” he muttered, gaze returning to his sheets.

He could feel Fuegoleon’s gaze burning into him.

“I told you, it won’t do any good.”

Fuegolen sighed. “Nozel, I know this is difficult. Expressing your emotions may not come as easily for you as it does for me, but I’m sure you can learn.”

Irritation prickled under Nozel’s skin.  _ Is Fuegoleon goading me on purpose? _ “It’s not something I have to learn. It’s just a task that serves no purpose for House Silva.”

“A task you would leave unfinished?” Fuegoleon asked, quirking a brow.

Nozel felt his irritation rising to anger. As clumsy as it would be, he had to change the subject. “It pushed Solid in the wrong direction. He’s even more excited about becoming a magic knight now.”

“Well, he’ll learn,” Fuegoleon said lightly.

“Yes, and in the meantime I’ll have to keep him close. He and Nebra can look after each other.”

“And you can look after them. Good plan.”

Nozel traced the embroidery on his comforter, working to keep his fingers steady. “It’s too late to do anything else with them, but if I could make Solid wait, then I would.”

The Vermillion shifted to sit at the edge of his bed. “You’ll have to have a little faith in him. I think he’s been very mature about this.”

He just hummed in agreement. That fact did nothing to quell his anxiety. “I’ve been thinking ahead about Noelle, as well. I was hoping to deter her, but she’s expressed an interest in joining the Magic Knights, too.”

“She still has time to work on her magic,” Fuegoleon noted. “With a little encouragement-”

He shook his head, and his words came out with more force than he had wanted. “She’s not strong enough, and she has no control. Nebra and Solid only make things worse for her, and I can’t protect her on my own. The Silver Eagles is not where she belongs. I-” Nozel stopped himself, heart pounding. His throat felt tight, and he needed a moment to wrangle his feelings.

A hand landed on her shoulder. “Give her time to grow, Nozel.”

Nozel just kept shaking his head. “...I’ll find somewhere out of harm’s way to send her when the time comes. That’s what I’ve decided.”

“Alright… I’m not going to argue with you, but I am going to encourage you to give that a lot of thought,” Fuegoleon said tentatively. “Especially once you’ve recovered.”

“I will.”

“Is that… All you wanted to talk about? You know I love you, Nozel, but I should get back to work.” He smiled apologetically.

Narrowing his eyes, he stared back at him. “Yes. That’s all. Go get your work done.”

“You too.” He patted Nozel’s shoulder and walked out.

Nozel watched him go. When he was alone, the Silva’s eyes drifted to the window. His siblings had just come out to the courtyard. Noelle was sitting under a pear tree next to the water, watching Nebra and Solid set up a tea set on the grass and settle down for snacks. He couldn’t hear them, but he could guess that they were joking around with each other. Noelle seemed to be enjoying their bit from a distance, her smile wistful and her giggles no doubt muted. 

Nozel couldn’t deny the affection he had for them, and Fuegoleon was right in saying that leaving the task of telling them all how he felt unfinished didn’t feel right. His rival’s gentle jabs and challenges, implying that it was so hard for him, spurred him as well. But it didn’t make it any easier. His heart felt like it was shivering in his chest, pathetic and vulnerable. So often, he could keep his emotions encased in metal, but his injuries had left his mental armor in tatters.  _ How disheartening is it for them to see me like this? _ Nozel thought miserably, curling and flexing his fingers.  _ No. I have to show them that even at my weakest, I am not beaten. _ Taking a deep breath, he climbed slowly out of bed.

The walk down to the courtyard was slow. He paused, hand resting on the door to catch his breath. His heart thudded persistently, reminding him how weak he was. But he would only lose if it stopped him. He motioned for a servant to open the door for him.

Nebra glanced up first. He could sense her mana hanging in the air around the courtyard in its usual nosey way. It was no surprise she noticed him first. Her expression shifted, something less happy, but he couldn’t read into it beyond that.

Solid belatedly followed her gaze and perked up. “Big brother! You’re up.”

“Yes.” He made certain he was standing tall and waved Solid off with a flick of his wrist. “I need to speak to Nebra. Be gone.”

His little brother pouted, but when Nozel didn’t give in, he rose and scampered off.

“That means you, too, Noelle.”

Noelle had been peeking from behind the pear tree, but at his insistence, she too disappeared inside.

Nebra watched Nozel sit down on the blanket beside her and pick a cookie off the tray. She was hesitant to speak, and her face had become completely unreadable, but she finally murmured as he ate nervously. “What’s wrong, Nozel?”

Nozel rubbed the crumbs off his fingers, letting them fall into the grass. “Nothing’s wrong. I take it you’re doing well?”

She brushed her fingers through her hair. “Of course. It’s not like I was hurt.”

“You know what I mean,” he admonished.

Her voice came out a murmur, her eyes were narrowed, and her gaze averted. “I’m fine. And I see you’re doing better, as well… That’s good.”

Nozel watched her pick at the edge of the blanket and felt the silence draw out between them. When his hand could find no more cookies to stall with, he cleared his throat. “Solid and I were both very worried about you. We still are.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t her usual smirk. “I really am fine. You don’t need to worry. You know, Silvas are not so easily broken… Assuming I still count.” Nebra pushed a lilt into her voice at the last second, and Nozel couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.

At the risk of coming off uncouth, he took it seriously. “Don’t think like that. If we didn’t want you back, we wouldn’t have gone through so much work to retrieve you.”

Her smile fell, and she straightened her shoulders as if she were speaking to a stranger. “I… I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

That was not the response he expected. It wasn’t the response he wanted. He ran his hand down his face.  _ I’m just making things worse. _ “Nebra, you’re my sister. You always will be.” Looking back to her, he insisted, “There’s nothing anyone could do to change that. I wouldn’t ask them to.”

Her pink eyes rose from the blankets and met his.

“I don’t want to lose any of my siblings. I…” He swallowed and pinched his eyes closed. “I love you. All of you. I would… I would rather have my name dragged through the mud than lose you.” He waited for her to respond, doing his best to keep his breathing even. How could speaking be so draining?

“... Should I fetch the doctor, brother?” Nebra’s voice came out an irreverent croak. His eyes snapped open to see her turned away, a bent finger pressed to her lips. Her shoulders shivered. 

He couldn’t believe that he was bearing his soul and being laughed at. “Why would you say that?” he demanded, cheeks coloring with indignation.  _ Why did they all say that? _

“It… it’s just so unlike you,” she rasped. He caught a glint in her eyes, but she quickly blinked it away.

The realization hit hard enough to make him tremble. Nebra wasn’t laughing. She was holding back tears.  _ This was a terrible idea. I’m going to kill Fuegoleon… _ Brushing the plate from between them, he started to reach for the teapot. It would be best not to acknowledge her struggling. There was no need to further embarrass her.

But his little sister scooched closer instead and dropped her head against his chest. 

He froze.

One of her hands clutched his shirt. “What was it you said again? I want to be certain I heard it right.” 

If he hadn’t so dramatically misread her before, he would think she was being cheeky. But he couldn’t take the chance. Brushing his hands through her hair anxiously, he repeated, “I love you, Nebra. I don’t want to lose you, and I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

She sniffled and wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tight. “W-what was that?”

He clutched onto her, afraid she would knock him over if he didn’t lean into her hug. “I said I love you!”

Nebra laughed. The sound was choked by sobs.

“You know that already,” Nozel scoffed, but he could already feel the tears gathering in his own eyes. It seemed none of his siblings would allow him to escape dry-eyed. This time, he hoped to at least avoid making a disgusting mess.

She nodded against his chest and tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. Against all etiquette, she didn’t have qualms about using his shirt as a tissue. Nozel didn’t have the resolve to stop her, though. He was just trying to remain stoic and keep his nose from dripping, because his eyes already were.

When she had regained her composure, Nebra leaned back and wiped her eyes in a casual, dismissive way. She held onto his arm and leaned on his shoulder. “I can’t believe the things that man had me thinking…”

He tensed. Protective anger mingled with relief in his chest. That was the closest she had come to sincerely acknowledging that Penchant had manipulated her instead of it just being a distant possibility.

Nebra straightened and turned away, pressing her bent finger to her lips. “It’s a good thing I had Fuegoleon’s galloping abs there to keep me grounded. I certainly don’t regret  _ everything _ I did.”

Nozel scoffed to hide a laugh. Taking the opportunity while she wasn’t looking to wipe what he hoped were the last tears from his eyes, he murmured, “Yes, he received a star for wandering around drunk and half dressed. I read the report.”

She smiled cheekily. “Not everything was in the report.”

“... What do you mean?” he asked, raising a brow.

“I think I’ve gone farther than you with Fuegoleon at this point. We did share a bed, after all.” Her voice was sing-song.

He rolled his eyes and poured himself a cup of tea. “Not likely.”

“Are you sure?” Her look turned mischievous. “Because he really boosted my morale. I didn’t know such things came with tongue, but he told me that you could attest to his methods.”

Nozel nearly choked on his tea. She laughed as he gathered his composure and stammered, “T-tell me what happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> I'm bad at finishing things, so I'm very happy to see this actually completed! Here are some notes:
> 
> This is the what Nozel is referencing when he is crying on Noelle: https://img.ifunny.co/images/8575c9859219f3cbd81849046f7607152afe8d01aefd500a372bf94f67bc440f_1.jpg   
> I wanted to make him tell ALL his siblings he loved them, but Noelle had said in canon that she has no good memories of her siblings. I didn't want him to absolutely crush her by telling her he loved her and then making it sound like he didn't mean it, so in a curl of the monkey's paw, she gets a memory where he seems completely sincere, but it's extremely uncomfortable for everyone involved, anyway.
> 
> Nebra and Nozel both have crushes on Fuegoleon. Normally, they tell each other quite a bit about whatever happens with him. It's their favorite gossip and a little bit of friendly competition. So being able to talk freely about it is a return to normal.
> 
> Writing Ferdinand was hella fun. Trying to make someone a threat to Nozel (in the right circumstances) and still fit into the world was a nice challenge. I almost didn't want to lock him away forever, because I was pretty proud of him, but I'm more interested in canon-ish content, anyway.
> 
> Might add more notes later but eh.


	10. After Credits Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ; )

Fuegoleon gently tapped a stack of papers even on his deck and set them in the ‘Complete’ bin at its corner. Satisfied with a job well done, he rose to his feet and stretched. The sun was going down. He was getting his things together when he sensed a presence approaching. He glanced up just in time to see Nebra knock gently on the doorframe. She had a bouquet of white heather, yellow chrysanthemums, and red asters in hand. “Good evening, Master Vermillion,” she purred. 

“Good evening, Lady Silva.” He smiled brightly at her. “Are those for me?” The combination of flowers looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place them.

She strolled inside. “I wanted to congratulate you on the star you earned on our… mission.” Holding out the flowers, she added, “Now that things have settled.” 

His smile grew as he accepted them. “Well, thank you. And congratulations, yourself. I heard you and Nozel were both cleared for work again.”

She gave her now freed hand a dismissive flick and looked down her nose at him. “Of course. And we earned stars, too, you know. As if you won that mission yourself.”

“Then congratulations on that, too,” he chuckled. He shifted the flowers to one hand. “It really is good to see you back in action. The magic knights aren’t the same without you.”

She turned away, hand lifted to her lips. “Of course they aren’t… And you weren’t laid up for long, given how minor your injuries were, but I’m sure your squad was happy to have you back, too.” she scoffed. She cleared her throat and watched him from the corner of her eyes. “Still, I should thank you. Things might have gone differently without you.”

He huffed in amusement. His injuries hadn’t been minor, just easier to heal. “I told you. That’s just what magic knights do. I’m happy I was able to help.”

She nodded. “That’s all I wanted to say, so I’ll be going. I thought I saw Nozel on his way here, and I’ve just gotten away from my brothers’ doting. There’s no need to run into him now. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he agreed, watching her march out.

Fuegoleon took his time getting things together, and just as Nebra had said, Nozel arrived before he had left his office. “Still working, I see. And you’re not even captain yet,” his rival greeted him from the doorway. “If you don’t find other people to take care of those miniscule things, you’ll never have a moment of rest.”

“I can handle it,” Fuegoleon said, puffing his chest. “I don’t plan on taking a long vacation like you did anytime soon.” They exchanged piercing leers. It was enough to convince Fuegoleon that Nozel had completely recovered. A few weeks and a team of very talented doctors had put him back on his chilly pedestal. It was as much a relief as it was a disappointment. Fuegoleon thought his friend being a bit more expressive might have been a good thing. “What are you here for, Nozel?”

“I can’t visit my dear friend after recovering? We’ll be returning to work tomorrow, and I wanted to see you. But if you aren’t in the mood, I’ll go.” He turned his back and started out. “Goodnight.”

Fuegoleon rolled his eyes.  _ Yes, Nozel’s back to his prickly self. _ He decided to call his bluff. Nozel might not want to be more honest with his feelings, but Fuegoleon wasn’t going to fall over himself trying to uncover them. “Goodnight.”

It turned out that his rival wouldn’t leave without saying what he wanted, after all. “By the way…” Nozel stopped in the doorway and looked back over his shoulder, expression icy. “Did you get a boner for my sister?”

The Vermillion froze and fought to keep his face straight. He struggled to get a word out. He failed. Hair stood along his neck, and heat rushed to his cheeks. Had Nebra told him that?  _ I thought she didn’t notice! _

Nozel seemed to have gotten the answer he wanted. He turned without a word and glided out.


End file.
